


Sensitivity Training

by o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Oversensitive, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slice of Life, but there's lots of pining too, lots of talking, maybe they should be kissing instead, nope still talking, sometimes way too much talking, virgin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o/pseuds/o0_TheMilkyBarKid_0o
Summary: Hank never gave much thought to Connor actually going out to get the upgrade. It seemed more like a passing fantasy or an allegory on what it meant to feel or some shit, not a plan put in place.A question about sensation leads to an upgrade being obtained.





	1. Chapter 1

The glossy cover, Hank will attest, with its neon purple glow and half-naked female on the front was what drew his attention, not the bold headline and large, curling font that seductively advertised in un-subtle white-on-neon the Eden Club not too far from the precinct.

 

Not the headline. Nope.

 

_ ANDROID SEX OFFICIALLY BETTER _

 

" _ Jesus _ ..." he muttered to himself, scanning around him briefly to be sure no one was eye-balling before casting his eyes back down to read more of the column dominating the front page.

 

The magazine in question was a bit dated and had actually been buried under a ton of sports issues, ticketing concerns from IT and general waste at the bottom of Gavin's desk. Protein bar wrappers, old packets of chips, receipts from the dry-cleaners and a handful of napkins otherwise littered the top drawer. Gavin, who had been moved to another precinct since his... falling  _ out  _ with Connor in the evidence room, didn't overly concern himself with emptying his desk out before his move. Hank personally couldn't care less if he came back to collect his crap or not. 

 

The lieutenant had been nice enough to offer to clear out the empty desk for whatever poor soul was replacing him, if only to score some free stuff. Still, it did make him raise a brow to think that  _ Gavin  _ had such an article beneath so much trash, almost like he was  _ hiding  _ it...

 

He could kind of see why... it was certainly...  _ intriguing _ ...

 

_ MOVE OVER LADIES, PLASTIC CAN'T BE BEAT _

 

He tried to hide his indignity behind a scalding sip of coffee, placing the magazine article-down on the desk next to the rest of the stuff as if he was planning on throwing it all in the bin - but to be honest, the damage was already done to his imagination. The offending article would go in the trash, and he would never un-think what he just thought.

 

Namely the thought of Android sex. Android sex that was  _ better  _ than sex with real, human people.

 

The burn of the next sip seemed small compared to the war his mind was going through. He wandered back to his desk, placing his cup down next to his half-eaten doughnut, and glanced at Connor's pristine desk beside his haphazard one.

 

The image conjured up by his imagination at the headline of the article came unbidden into his thoughts again and he jerked his head away. Of Connor, on the well-worn sheets of Hank's bed, naked as the day he was manufactured,  _ gripping  _ the sheets and panting-

 

Hank grabbed the steaming cup again and gulped a measure, burning the shit out of his mouth. 

 

That stupid article had planted the idea that nearly made him spit out his coffee all over the desk he just spent half the morning rooting through. It wasn't that he didn't... think about it, on occasion - mostly about the... logistics of Android sexual relations. But the idea of  _ Connor  _ of all androids having the capability - 

 

Or even the want to... 

 

If he even could. For all he knew, Connor was as smooth as a mannequin down there.

 

Hank cleared his throat very loudly, startling one of the officers on the other side of the office. 

 

Sitting down, partly because of the mountain of work waiting for him, mostly because of the  _ problem  _ going on downstairs, no thanks to his current slew of provocative thoughts, he resisted the urge to cross his knees in case he was making himself too obvious. 

 

Besides, even if his partner  _ did  _ have the... parts, Hank doubted it was something he wished to pursue. Connor had a single minded focus that couldn't be easily swayed by much, which he supposed made sense for a purpose-build android. All be ever did was work. His mandatory days off were treated as a hindrance rather than a time to relax - probably because he just didn't need to.

 

Just like he didn't need to sleep. Or eat. Piss, shit. Or fuck, for that matter.

 

The not sleeping thing still creeped the hell out of Hank on the best of occasions. It merely frustrated Connor to be deprived of time he could be spending working, but Jeffrey flat out refused to have him on cases 24/7. 

 

What with their new rights and all. 

 

Hank just wished he'd get a fuckin' hobby that wasn't walking Sumo.

 

_ Or get a girlfriend _ , he mused, rolling his sore tongue along the back of his teeth to try and ease the stinging sensation,  _ aren't all the androids doing that now? _ Somehow he still doubted that Connor even thought about it. He was certainly at his happiest when his purpose of being a detective was fulfilled and he was bulldozing his way through every single case he could get his hands on, Cold or Active. 

 

_ Imagine _ , he thought to himself,  _ Connor with a fuckin' girlfriend _ . To have all his pomp and finery messed up. Someone to ruffle that perfectly manicured hair, or to pull his tie askew. Someone who didn't take him as seriously as he did himself. 

 

Still, it was interesting to think of all that seriousness and perfection melting away into the messy nature that was sex and pleasure. Hank briefly regretted the image of what Connor might look like with tousled hair squashed into a pillow, a loss of his usual iron focus to make way for something more suited to  _ fucking _ – but only regretted it, not because it was inappropriate, but because of the pointlessness of it.  

 

Hank was under no illusions – he was a pretty shlubby guy and Connor was... just...  _ exemplary _ . It would be like touching something impossibly clean and perfect and beautiful with hands that have just been digging through the mud. 

 

And, Connor was an android. Hank didn't  _ do _ androids. 

 

And, as much as it ate away at his self-consciousness, he was a man in his 50's, and if he really thought about it, depending on when Connor was manufactured, he couldn't be more than a couple of months to maybe a year old,  _ which was kind of fuckin' weird _ when he thought about it that way. 

 

_ So why the fuck am I thinking about this...? _ He asked himself gently as he scrolled through pending cases with half-interest. 

 

Because of the stupid article?  _ Yeah _ . Because of his overactive imagination?  _ Probably _ . 

 

Regardless, it wasn't going to happen. What friend didn't occasionally think about how their friends fuck or how they would fuck their friends, right? 

 

Totally nothing wrong with that. 


	2. Chapter 2

Connor exited standby at 5:15pm to make sure Sumo got his scheduled feed in.

 

As much as Connor had the time down to a millisecond, so too did Hank's massive Saint Bernard, jerking awake as soon as he heard the faint buzz of Connor's LED spinning on the exit of idling. His shaggy, hulking form moved with surprising speed and excitement as Connor rose from the couch and remotely turned on the dimmer lights in the house.

 

Sumo, oblivious to the sudden mood-lighting, barked deeply in anticipation for a feed.

 

Connor hushed him briefly and bent at the waist to give him a quick scratch behind the ears before nudging him out of the way with his knee to steer him towards the kitchen. Eventually, after some pawing, slobbering, and whining from the dog, Connor managed to get Sumo's bowl full with a precise 1/2 tub measurement of food on the counter and, with just a raised hand and not even a word this time, the dog was sitting dutifully, but barely containing his excitement.

 

"Good boy, Sumo," he uttered, before putting the bowl down in front of the quivering animal and watching him demolish it with a fervour Connor was still trying to train out of him. While the dog ate, Connor  _ supposed  _ he could do the laundry if just to have something to pass the time, and headed into Hank's bedroom, grabbing the basket and hauling it into the kitchen with him.

 

The intermittent diet did not sit well with Sumo when Connor first started experimenting with it. He would sleep sadly next to his bowl and whine, glaring up at him with big brown eyes, but after a few difficult weeks Connor was glad to see the difference in his size and demeanor. He estimated by the time it took to train him to wait for his food, he could probably train him to relax more in about 3 weeks.

 

The daily walks and petting sessions behind the ears probably helped as well. Sumo was very affectionate, despite hating the diet at the beginning.

 

It was giving him something to plan and think about, at least. While he understood the necessity of mandatory days off, he was quickly running out of things to do and spent most of his time in standby mode until he could work again.

 

Since his reorganizing of the evidence room and the precinct digital filing system, occasionally some of the officers contacted him for quick reference by phone, but that wasn't enough to occupy his time.

 

Hank did not appreciate his helpfulness. He said that the other officers knew how to use their terminals and that they were taking advantage of him when he should be getting his mind off work

 

Picking up his coat off the rack on the way back to the kitchen, Connor examined the grass stains on the elbow and side. It was similar to his old one, but without the embroidered ANDROID motif on the back and the big reflective triangle. The stains were mostly from chasing down a suspect through an open garden, but also partly from exercising Sumo in the morning and the dog getting a little overzealous when Connor tried to throw the Frisbee for him. He placed the coat down on the kitchen table, shoved the rest of the laundry into the machine and turned it on, and pulled the detergent out of the cupboard to work on the stains on his jacket. Sumo finished eating with a huff and plopped down next to his bowl with a sad sigh.

 

A familiar mechanical squealing sound could just about be heard from outside and Connor could see Sumo turning his head towards the door from his bowl. If he wasn't mistaken, that was Hank's car; or more accurately the loose fan belt under the grille making that noise whenever he turned a corner.

 

Connor turned on his latest experimental playlist remotely, and the retro vinyl-playing sound-system came to life.

 

Keys jingled as the door opened and Hank wearily stumbled inside. Connor called out a cheerful hello from the kitchen. Hank said something unintelligible back and went into his bedroom, presumably to get changed.

 

"Hey, Connor," he eventually called out from beyond the closed door, followed by a  _ thump  _ that sounded like he was taking off his shoes, "what's that playing?"

 

"It's low-fidelity Soul," he said back, pouring detergent on his coat and rubbing the fabric together.

 

"... 's pretty good..." he heard Hank remark quietly through the thin walls; Connor smiled slightly in success.

 

It had been a rough few months since Hank had a drink and Connor was trying his best to make a tranquil space that Hank could unwind in, so he wouldn't feel the need to drink again. His first few music choices had been a flop, more annoying than entertaining, but this playlist seemed to do the trick. 

 

He noted that Hank was particularly at risk when he returned home from work. The last few weeks had been pretty good, however.

 

When Hank padded in from his bedroom to the kitchen in a grey t-shirt and sweats, he turned on the coffee maker and glanced down into the spinning washing machine.

 

"I sure hope that's your laundry," he muttered.

 

"It's yours,"

 

"I thought I told you to quit doin' that? I can wash my own damn clothes,"

 

"I was cleaning this," Connor held up his coat, "I figured I might as well just get it all done,"

 

"Yeah, well," Hank waved him off and turned to the percolating coffee pot, pouring a measure into a mug, "you don't need to.  _ Emancipation _ , remember?"

 

"It wasn't in my programming to do the laundry before I became a deviant," Connor corrected, stopping his scrubbing to examine the fading green stain.

 

Hank leaned against the counter, gesturing with the half-full mug, "So you're sayin' you  _ like  _ doing laundry? Am I gonna have to hire you as a maid now, too?"

 

Connor just shrugged, “... I was bored.” But he knew that was only half the truth. A very large part of his directive had become about Hank; about Hank's well being, about Hank's health, about Hank's mental state, his nutritional needs, his hygiene, his home, his dog.

 

His car. Connor turned to Hank with a blank expression, rubbing detergent into the coat in is hands, “The fan belt in the front of your car is loose. That's probably what's making that noise. Do you want me to fix it?” 

 

“You a mechanic now?” Hank took a sip of his coffee.

 

“It's not difficult.”

 

Hank watched him over the rim of his mug, his eyes slitted, “I could just pay a mechanic-” 

 

“Another android with the same capabilities.” 

 

Connor didn't know what he did to irritate the human, but Hank got a dangerous twitch in his left eye whenever he started losing his patience. 

 

Hank placed his mug down on the counter and levelled him with a hard stare. “Alright Connor, what the fuck is this about?”

 

He stopped his scrubbing and regarded the Lieutenant reproachfully over his shoulder. 

 

Admitting the deep sense of duty he had, or in-fact his new directive wouldn't flatter Hank. The human was teetering on a fine edge between discomfort and an outright breakdown with all the changes over the past few months, and Connor knew better than to drive his fragile confidence down further by saying what his real motives were. Between allowing Connor to stay with him in the tumultuous times after the revolution, trying to give up alcohol, and coming to terms with the loss of his very young son, Hank was just one man trying to bear it all. 

 

And Connor didn't want to add anything to the burden. He wanted to assist, as was always his purpose.

 

“I...” he started, frowning. Since becoming deviant, he never felt comfortable with lying for the sake of his mission. But a half-truth was better than a lie, “I... I worry. About you. That's all.” 

 

“... If this is about my drinking,” Hank's expression softened as he picked his coffee back up, “you know I'm only doing it socially. You don't have to worry.” 

 

Connor wasn't sure what to say, and became even more unsure as the silence stretched on and Hank looked at him with that soft expression that said  _ he _ was worried. After a few moments, Hank shook his head and stepped towards him, placing a large hand on Connor's shoulder to give it a little shake. 

 

“You  _ really _ need a better hobby than looking after me,” he said, stepping into the living-room with his mug in his hand, and slumped down onto the sofa with a sigh. Sumo, with Hank at the perfect angle for prime affection-giving, followed him to the couch.   

 

Connor didn't feel right saying anything after that. He continued on with his coat until the stains were gone and opened the auxiliary door on the washing machine to throw it in with the load, when he got a call from a Sergeant in the precinct, blinking erratically while answering it after the ringing caused his ocular sensors to flash. 

 

“Sergeant Hendrick,” he announced, standing straight, “what can I do for you?” 

 

“ _ Connor _ ,” Hendrick's voice buzzed back, muffled like he was standing outside, possibly along the street to the DPD precinct if the distant siren was any indication, “ _ one of the boys told me to call you when I need information. He said you have an “encyclopedic knowledge” of our archives. Is this true? _ ”     

 

Straightening his collar and rolling down the sleeves of his shirt, Connor answered, “That's true. What do you need to know?” 

 

“Is someone callin' you from the precinct again?!” Hank yelled from his horizontal position on the couch, “How many times do I have to tell them; you're not a talkin' fuckin' terminal-”

 

“ _ -Is that Hank beside you? _ ”

 

“Why don't they bother their asses finding the information themselves. They're fuckin'  _ detectives _ -” 

 

“Yes,” he merely affirmed, slightly louder so as to drown out Hank's rant, “what do you need to know, Hendrick?” 

 

“You tell that piece of shit it's your day off, you hear me?” Hank shot across the living room, letting out a strangled  _ oof _ when Sumo decided to climb onto the couch with him and planted a large paw on his lower stomach. 

 

“ _... Am I interupting-? _ ”

 

“You can ask your question, Sergeant, I'm all ears.” 

 

“ _... Right _ ,” came the reproachful reply, “ _ Remember the case from two weeks ago with the woman's car that ended up in the river? _ ” 

 

“Case number 28-88358, the Suspect's car was found in a bank off the Huron River with a 21 year old unidentified victim of 6 gunshot wounds to the chest. What do you want to know?” 

 

There was a moment of silence before Hendrick answered, “ _ Y-yeah, yeah, that one. I need the number of the Suspect's younger sister that was collected at the scene- _ ” 

 

Connor brought up the file and prepared the details Hendrick was looking for in a legible fashion. “Do you want me to call it out to you or will I send it to your phone in a message?” 

 

“ _ You can just send it to my phone. _ ”

 

“Alright,” he blinked a few times as he connected his message with the closest signal and sent it, “sending now.” 

 

“ _ Thanks, Connor. _ ” 

 

“You're welcome. Is there anything else you need, Sergeant?” 

 

“ _ Nah, we're good. Just about done here. Sorry to... disturb your... eh, whatever. _ ” 

 

The call ended and Connor shook his head a little. It was not the first time someone from the force called him with a query, and even though it was a minor question that took no real processing power to perform, he was glad to be able to assist the teams. If it helped paint him in a better picture than what a lot of androids were left with after the revolution, all the better for it. 

 

“You're gonna regret that in a while,” Hank sneered and sipped his coffee, “before you know it, all that powerful programming and  _ harmonious design _ is gonna be wasted on stupid questions they can find out for themselves.” 

 

“It keeps me occupied,” 


	3. Chapter 3

Hank, being half-buried by dog hair, managed to slide himself out from underneath Sumo to get up and walk to the kitchen. Connor was cleaning up the water and detergent off the kitchen table, looking up only briefly while Hank threw the rest of his coffee in the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher. 

 

“This is why I'm saying you need a hobby,” he pushed, “one that isn't cooking, since, you know, you don't fuckin' eat.” 

 

Opening the fridge, Hank stopped for a moment, “... When did you make cornbread?” 

 

He watched as Connor merely shrugged again, “Yesterday. Again, I was bored.” 

 

“Huh...”

 

Hank took a square and closed the fridge to lean against it, biting a chunk out of the savoury yellow treat. The cornbread was thick, homely, and delicious. He had a feeling that Connor only took up cooking because he worried about Hank's diet, but he wasn't going to complain since the food was more than decent. He supposed, with someone as anal and precise as Connor, it was no wonder his cooking was good. 

 

“Why don't you try something more... I dunno, self-serving? Creative? Maybe knitting would keep you busy,” he nagged through a mouthful. 

 

Connor straightened from the table, tugging the sleeves of his blue shirt down around his wrists until they were crisp and taut, and regarded him before he shook his head a little, “... I was... actually, never-mind.” 

 

“What?” 

 

The awkward smile and the way Connor leaned against the table and crossed his arms spoke volumes to Hank, “... No... you-you'll just laugh.” 

 

Shoving the rest of the bread into his mouth, he brushed his hands clean and pressed a little further through a solid mouthful, “Go ohn, I won' raff,” 

 

Connor didn't smile much, but when he did in such a lopsided way it made Hank really question if his face was made to do that. And... he'd be honest, Connor was cute as shit when he looked like that. All that... unsurety and humour replacing his usual stiff demeanour. 

 

Hank did enjoy changing up that pretty face for whatever reason. 

 

The android hesitated for a moment, his LED blinking yellow a few times before settling on a solid yellow ring, which usually meant Connor was conflicted.

 

“I've been... researching ways to appear more human,” Connor started, hugging his arms tight to his chest, “I know that, compared to other androids, I am lagging behind in that area. I supposed it is because I was purpose-built.” 

 

Hank resisted the urge to reassure him, instead choosing to let him speak. This was clearly an insecurity Connor had and he wouldn't delegitimize it for the sake of a few platitudes, even though he felt Connor wasn't doing half-bad in a lot of ways, and absolutely terrible in others. 

 

Connor continued, looking away from Hank and at the table, “Anyway... I  _ have _ tried something, but I can't figure out the technique, and the explanations I have found are not helpful.”

 

“Tried what?” 

 

There was that sideways smile again as Connor rose a brow at him, “Eh...  _ whistling _ .” 

 

“...  _ Whistling _ ,” 

 

“Yes. I can't... perform the action.” 

 

Hank stepped a little closer. Such a small thing that he wanted to try to seem more human, and damn if he wasn't going to help him, especially considering the shamed look on his face that he couldn't master something on the first try made Hank more hopeful for the outcome. 

 

He'd totally help Connor learn how to whistle, if becoming more human was what he wanted.

 

Sometimes it was difficult to draw the line between man and machine when it came to Connor, especially. There were still so many parts and aspects of him that were still very much machine and computing power. But his humanity and his softness, his naivete and empathy made him a better human than a lot of fuckers Hank knew personally, and even called friends. 

 

And to think that perfect, brilliant Connor couldn't do something as simple as whistling while being as flawlessly calibrated as he was? 

 

Hank was beginning to feel a little better about himself.  

 

“Cmon', whistling is easy,” he said, “try it again. Let me see.” 

 

The android shook his head and tried to wave him off, “I can't,” 

 

“The fuck you can't, just put your lips together and blow,” he said through a laugh. He'd seen Connor breathing – he had no fuckin' idea why androids needed to breathe or, hell, blink, cry, and do all that other human shit but Cyberlife sure had a sense of humour. 

 

The attempt that Connor made was so terrible that, if he hadn't said that he didn't want Hank to laugh earlier, he honestly would have burst out laughing right in his face. 

 

“Jesus, okay,” Hank stepped in front of the android, straightening him up with his hands on his shoulders, squaring them to the same height and stood them both in the middle of the kitchen. Connor, presumably with the idea that he could learn something new, gave Hank his undivided attention. “Watch me, okay?” 

 

Connor nodded twice. 

 

Whistling a note, he watched as Connor's eyes analysed the movement of his mouth and then flicked back to his gaze when the note was finished. Sumo made a questioning  _ boof  _ from the living room couch.  

 

“Now you try.” 

 

While he attempted, Hank really did wonder if Connor's face was meant to move that much because he just couldn't get it at  _ all.  _ His brow furrowed when it appeared his attempt had failed again. 

 

“No, you just...” Hank pointed to his own mouth, “you just kinda float your tongue in the middle of your mouth, purse your lips and blow, like this-” 

 

Whistling a ditty, Connor's surprised expression told him that maybe he hadn't expected Hank to be so good at it, or for the sound to be produced, but when he tried again and failed, Hank had to ask, both to himself and to the android in front of him, “Wait... do you even have a tongue?” 

 

What if androids just made the movements but the speech was made with a speaker in their throat or something? 

 

“Androids were designed to mimic humans as much as possible. It was easier to engineer a prehensile mechanical tongue than to develop an entirely new way of communicating.” 

 

Hank nodded, understanding nothing. “So...?” 

 

“Yes,” Connor smirked, “I have a tongue.” 

 

There was something in the way that he said the word  _ tongue _ that made Hank's focus draw completely to his mouth, and Hank had to give it to Cyberlife for making something so... fuckin' like the real deal. If he wasn't in the know, he would swear Connor was human by the small divots of pores on the upper lip and the creasing in the fleshy pinkness of his mouth. 

 

“Well, put that tongue to some use and make a whistle then, if you're so smart,” he hadn't meant for the sentence to sound as salacious as it did, as if he was suggesting he put that mechanical tongue to some real use other than the perfectly innocent act of whistling, but Hank couldn't really help it with the opportunity he was given. 

 

“I am trying,” Connor insisted as Hank shook his head when his next attempt bombed. 

 

“No, you gotta purse your lips more,” 

 

Connor's mouth twisted like he was trying and Hank could see by the hollow of his cheeks that he  _ was _ trying to push his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Eventually, losing his patience when another forced blow resulted in little sound he decided to do the action for him. 

 

“Like this, okay?” Hank insisted and reached up, cupping Connor's jaw and chin in his palm and using his thumb and forefinger to gently squeeze the edges of the android's mouth together. 

 

If Connor minded that he was being manhandled by Hank, he didn't say anything, or make any attempt to move away. He was placid and calm, and he even kept trying to make the sound that he wished to seemingly no avail. 

 

The skin on his face was so...  _ soft _ . Like real, human skin, a little warmer he guessed than an average human but so...  _ soft _ . 

 

The way Connor's mouth squashed underneath his fingers, pliant in his grasp, the way Hank’s other fingers pressed an indentation into his cheeks and the skin on his chin even folded a little with the way Hank was ever-so-slightly angling his head up... if Hank hadn't known better...   

 

He didn't know why he expected him to be smooth and hard, like plastic. The fact that he wasn't was very difficult to ignore. 

 

Connor sagged ever so slightly in his grip like he wanted to hang his head, and shut his glassy eyes, “I don't think I am getting this,” he sighed in a way that would have sounded comical with his mouth bunched up like a fish but Hank was barely paying attention, so he very reluctantly released his grip on the android's chin. 

 

“You're so...” he started, before he had a chance to stop, “you're so  _ soft _ .”


	4. Chapter 4

Disappointed with his inability to make a whistling sound that wasn't produced by his audio synthesizer, Connor stepped back a little from Hank who was staring wonderingly down at his hand.

Hank was speaking low enough that Connor had to increase the pick-up volume on his audio input.

"Were you… always this soft?"

Connor tilted his head inquisitively, "I'm not sure what you mean. I have not received any cosmetic upgrades since my service in Cyberlife, if that is what you're asking."

"No, I mean… your face. Whys'it like that? Feel's so fuckin  _real_ ,"

"Androids were designed to work harmoniously with humans. Early trials suggested humans reacted favourably to androids who possessed a synthetic skin over the classic white models."

"Huh…" the Lieutenant huffed and shook his hand out a bit, looking bewildered.

Concerned with the minor behaviour change, Connor performed a quick scan of Hank to try and find what the change in demeanour meant. If he had angered Hank, or if perhaps his withdrawal symptoms were beginning to affect him again, he wished to know. Hank was quick to anger and prone to tremors when his energy levels dropped and Connor was usually able to intervene with a candy bar or a high-sugar soda, and considering all the yelling Hank did when Connor was on a call to Hendrick earlier, it was a possibility.

The scan did manage to produce a more surprising reason. Hank's heart-rate was slightly elevated despite the minor arrhythmia, but his energy level was nominal. A flush had started on his cheeks and his pupils had dilated before he looked away to the ground. His voice had pitched lower, making it more difficult for Connor to hear him when he spoke.

There were two possibilities - either Hank's fight-or-flight response had kicked in and he was getting ready to stand his ground, or he was aroused.

Humans often reacted in such a way to physical touch, and what he said -  _you're so… you're so_ _ **soft**_  - Connor could deduce from the context.

The only possible scenario that made sense  _was_ arousal.

For an infinitesimal moment, Connor found himself envious. Humans were so responsive to their environment with their bodies that physical contact -  _sensation_ \- could cause involuntary changes to their mood.

Where Connor's deviancy had been a matter of complex code reacting to irrational instruction and environment, humans were pure chemistry.

He looked away from Hank and reached up to lightly press the edges of his own mouth together in a perfect imitation of what Hank did and felt…  _nothing_.

Not his own hand, nor the feeling of his hand on his face. His sensors were so highly calibrated that he could accurately scan the pressure of touch, a blow, or the weight of his own body to calculate how to move, but  _sensation…_ all androids had some capability, but only certain models had the programming.

The idea was fascinating. To be suddenly so far removed from humanity by such a small thing that he couldn't experience.

"... What does it feel like?" He finally asked after a moment's pause.

"... wha-... you mean your face?"

"Yes," and then Connor elaborated, after he considered his words, "but, not just my face. What I mean is, how does it feel to  _feel_?"

Hank's brow furrowed at him and stayed that way. He was silent, gaping that suggested he didn't understand the question, and in Connor's excitement at learning about a new topic, he stepped in a little closer.

"You said that I was 'soft', but I have no feeling or sensation in which to compare it to. I don't understand the concept of what is soft and what isn't."

Hank folded his arms, the corners of his eyes starting to crinkle in amusement, "That's right. You don't feel pain. I guess you don't 'feel' anything else either, huh?"

"Correct,"

The lieutenant scratched the back of his head and turned away, pondering, "I guess… it's… shit, I dunno, Connor. That's a pretty existential question to ask. I've been 'feeling' since I was born, I don't even know how to describe it."

As Hank reached up to pull a glass out of one of the overhead presses, Connor thought of a scenario, "Alright, let's say… your clothes, for example. Do you constantly feel them on you? The texture, or the weight?"

Hank gestured with the glass, "Well, now I'm fuckin' aware of them," and turned to the sink to fill it with water. He hiked up the back of his sweats with a thumb and pulled the hem of his t-shirt down over them, indicating his sudden self-consciousness.

"So, you don't  _feel_ your clothes on you?"

"Obviously I know I'm wearing them. I just don't feel it unless I'm thinkin' about it." Hank sipped the water, still watching him with a bemusement that gave Connor less of a reason to worry about his mood change.

_Interesting_. When humans were used to a familiar sensation they tended to unconsciously ignore it, but could choose to hone-in on the feeling at will, if they wished to experience it.

Hank leaned against the counter, smiling with half of his mouth and chuckled, "You're pretty passionate about this. I'm always telling you to do something for yourself - get used to your autonomy and whatnot - why not see if there's an upgrade or something that can simulate it?"

Connor wasn't aware that he seemed passionate, but he had noticed that he leaned towards Hank in his haste for an answer. A brief search through the existing catalogue however showed that the suggestion was not possible.

Another avenue to perhaps help him get closer to feeling more human - dashed.

"The program that exists is not compatible with my model type,"

Hank held up his hand for a moment, "Hang on, are you telling me that this exists already? As in, your…  _mechanics_  or whatever would allow for that?  _What's the purpose of that_?! I thought it was a good thing that you couldn't feel pain?"

Without missing a beat, Conor was able to correct, "All androids have the capability, but the program in question doesn't allow for pain."

"But what's the point?" Hank asked, shaking his head, "I thought this was something that could be developed - are you telling me that this was already a thing? For  _what_?"

The executable in question allowed for stimulation of the synthetic skin on an android's body with areas of stronger activity on mapped erogenous zones similar to those found on humans - its sole use was for paid upgrades for all domestic models except child models and then in models such as the BL100 or the WR400 and HR400 during sexual intercourse with human partners. Technically, even commercial models could be upgraded to include it along with the sexual integration package. It would just really depend on their programming algorithms or in some cases their component types.

While the discussion of sex or sexual history had never come up with Hank before, there were certain algorithms calculating that while Hank was open towards the prospect it was purely from a position that was humorous bordering on inappropriate, probably as a defence mechanism. It would be best not to probe, argue or insult.

And, considering Hank's momentary arousal, the context of the conversation was not lost on Connor, but pushing that further was not his prerogative.

He chose to be factual with his approach.

"It was initially designed for model type BL100, more commonly known as the 'perfect partner' model for integration during sexual intercourse-"

Hank choked on his water.

"- by allowing external stimulation to an android's skin and mapped erogenous zones."

Waving his hand in front of his face, Hank stumbled to the sink and spat out the water in his mouth, his hacking cough echoing off walls in the house.

The… factual approach may have been an oversight.

"It is the only known program that can perform in this way," Connor finished, grimacing while Hank still had his back turned. The lieutenant put his hand in the air to call for silence.

Wiping his mouth and beard with the back of his arm, Hank braced himself with both hands against the sink before uttering, quietly, more to himself than to Connor, " _Jesus_. Cyberlife really thought of everything, didn't they?"

Connor wondered if he had upset or embarrassed the lieutenant. He honestly hadn't meant to, it was his deduction of the conversation that led him to his answer. It saddened him a little to think that, for as much as he analysed their conversations and their relationship he still made an error, but - he supposed this was a topic they never broached before.

"Okay," Hank straightened up against the sink and tried to wave him off, "if you do get this upgrade, I don't wanna hear about it-"

"I wouldn't be using it for its intended purpose; it would be to simulate what humans physically feel, hopefully it would even allow me to better interact with my environment,"

"Like what?" The lieutenant crossed his arms.

Assaulted by the endless possibilities of texture and the many vast ways in which to describe them, Connor looked around the kitchen until his eyes settled on things that were familiar, "Like… I could pet Sumo, and feel what his fur is like. I… could shake your hand and feel the texture of your skin. This is an enormous area of human knowledge that I have no access to."

Hank was quietly skeptical; Connor supposed he hadn't expected the conversation to go in the direction it did, or perhaps he wasn't aware that androids were in fact capable of sensation if they had the right programming. He surmised that there were many things about him that Hank didn't know.

The human shrugged and gave him that look from underneath his browline, the one that said he was sympathetic, "But you said you can't,"

"Correct," it only barely registered that Connor's voice had pitched lower, quieter, "it is incompatible with my model type."

He hadn't expected to be disappointed. The catalogue of upgrades, enhancements and spare components didn't have much for the lone RK800 out in the world. It was possible to find things he needed to keep himself running, like Thyrium or generic components that became worn or broken in the dangerous job he performed, but nothing more advanced than what he already possessed.

"Can it be… I dunno, altered?"

"I don't… know," Connor sat back against the table, running over the possibility of an altered upgrade. But where would he even find-

"There's gotta be someone out there who worked on you," Hank suggested, "or you could try and fix it yourself."

"No, androids are still locked out of the base code," Connor corrected, folding his arms as he ran through a list of potential people.

He was pulled from his database search when Hank gently asked, "Hey, can I ask you a personal question?"

Connor looked up from the floor to examine Hank properly. A quick scan showed the low flush of blood in his cheeks, neck and nose, and his heart had picked up again. Hank  _never_ asked him a "personal question"; it was usually the other way around. The database searched pinged back with a negative, and so his undivided attention was now on the human man.

"Go ahead," he inclined his head, suddenly intrigued.

Hank held up his hands, "You can say no, if you want to."

Connor tilted his head, not used to this manner that Hank was using when the signals in his body were telling a different story. He was being gentle. Coaxing. His heart rate picked up again when Connor nodded twice.

"When you said that androids were built to mimic humans as much as possible, did you mean… every part?"

Several deductions were made; with the light blush that filled the high corners of Hank's cheekbones, the context of their conversation, the way that his heartbeat increased and his body language - the way he gestured with his hands downwards at Connor's body…

The calculation left Connor reproachfully silent for a moment, before he broached factually- "... You're asking if I have a penis."

The blush that had taken over Hank's cheeks spread suddenly to his nose and all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck, past the worn collar of his t-shirt. He baulked.

"Well when you put it like  _that-_ "

"Is that what you're asking?"

"It's an honest fuckin' question!" Hank crossed his arms and glared, "So… Do you or not?"


	5. Chapter 5

This was  _ not  _ how Hank pictured his evening going. 

 

Connor’s blank, calculating lack of expression was really starting to freak him out - but the accusatory tone he used made a hot streak of shame wash across the Lieutenant's body. Who the hell  _ was  _ he to ask such a deeply personal question to the android? Moreover, to his working partner? 

 

For all the partners Hank had through the years, he didn’t think he ever had the brass balls to ask something like that to one of them before. Of course there was always the odd bawdy joke thrown around to lighten what was usually a difficult job to do - but he’d never tried to divulge information about their body or sex-life.

 

Which was precisely why he was so uncomfortable in the first place. It took their lighthearted conversation into a dangerous, intimate territory that Hank wasn’t at all comfortable with. 

 

Especially considering his earlier thoughts and the current context. 

 

But he needed to  _ know _ . 

 

“... Yes,” Connor replied, his tone crisp and clipped and his LED quickly spinning yellow that betrayed the neutral plasticity of his face, “I do.” 

 

_ Fuuuuuuuuuck _ , was Hank’s first thought, and then more questions assaulted him through the silence. Questions like...  _ Why? _

 

Connor was built for a  _ purpose _ . What  _ purpose  _ did having a dick even serve?

 

But did he even want to know?  _ No _ , came the first thought that shuddered at the idea of an uncomfortable boundary being crossed somewhere in their friendship. This was different than the tongue question. It was  _ more _ . That stupid magazine in Gavin’s desk planted the seed that was starting to grow out of control - but it wasn’t like Hank actually wanted to know all these things about Connor’s anatomy. That wasn’t really the point. 

 

Because the second thought was  _ yes  _ and it overrode all the others, the reptilian part of his brain taking over when he focused on the sudden obsession  _ to know how Connor fucked. _

 

That part was absurdly strong and curious, and the word -  _ “Why?” _ was out of his mouth before he really thought about what he was asking. 

 

There was a brief moment when Connor seemed to consider, if he could, or perhaps search whatever archive he had access to before he answered in that same clipped tone, his LED spinning quickly between yellow and blue; “There  _ is  _ a suggestion in my programming that it was for the social aspect of my assistance functions - however in regards to the programming, it is unfinished,”

 

Hank came to the conclusion that whoever designed Connor must have had a serious hard-on for him. Whatever that bullshit was about it being a social function was roughly translated in Hank’s brain to  _ someone really wanted to fuck you or for you to  _ **_fuck_ ** _ , sweetheart.  _

 

“The reason for this may be because I am a prototype,” Connor continued, “I am sure this would have been upgraded as time continued while aiding the DPD. With the threat of deviancy on the rise, they must have rushed my production schedule.” 

 

A particularly brief but powerful part of Hank wondered if it had become apparent that he wanted to fuck Connor earlier in the case, would they have upgraded him sooner? Or if the situation had called for it, maybe to pose as a lover or to get closer to one of the deviant leaders, would Cyberlife really have gone so far? 

 

The question tore him a little. On one hand - Connor had no say over his manufacturing process and he would have been a slave to his programming before his deviancy - if his directive dictated that he was to get close enough to someone to have sex with them for the sake of his mission he would have been compelled, probably. Even if Hank had been interested then (which he wasn’t, not particularly), he doubted he would have said no to the handsome android. It had been a long fuckin’ time, after all.  

 

It didn’t help that he had warmed so much to him over their case, either. Connor was probably the reason he found androids so bearable. Not at the beginning of the case, but towards the end, abso-fucking-lutely. 

 

That was why, on the other hand, he found himself a little longing too. The potential for an entanglement was there had the cards been dealt a little differently.

 

The fact that it would have been without Connor’s willingness however was what really tore him up. He didn’t understand the operations of android thought until he saw Connor’s turmoil during the revolution. Obey or don’t. Mission or freedom.  

 

Hank would have taken what was being offered under the guise of “choice” when really… it  _ wasn’t _ . Not until Connor became truly deviant.

 

Hank leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms in a mimic of the android across from him and looked at the floor; “‘m kinda glad they rushed it, if I’m honest,” he muttered, “at least now you can decide for yourself if you wanna… well, you know.”

 

Something in Connor seemed to brighten up slowly after that - a minor widening of his eyes and the way his crossed arms relaxed slightly so his shirt was not pulled so tight against them. 

 

It was a few seconds before Connor spoke again but without the warning edge he had adopted earlier, his flashing LED spinning from yellow, yellow,  _ red _ , and then back to solid blue, “... You are right. I think, given the subject matter I would…  _ prefer  _ to have a choice.”     

 

There was a slight smile exchanged between the two of them for a moment - maybe of a boundary somewhere being repaired - and Hank was glad for it. Sometimes he worried that Connor wasn’t exerting his free will as much as he could be and searched for things to cling to, like being helpful to the DPD staff or taking up cooking just so Hank would stop eating so much unhealthy food, but that was an uncomfortable conversation for another night when they were both free. 

 

And, despite his nagging, Connor seemed to ignore Hank’s orders and continue anyway. He still wasn’t entirely sure how androids thought or felt so perhaps this was as far as Connor was willing to go. 

 

“If you want to see if you can get this upgrade or whatever, I’m not going to stop you,” Hank shrugged, “Like I said, I just don’t wanna hear about it. What you do in the comfort of your own body is your business.” 

 

Connor shook his head in disbelief and looked like he was going to say something by the way his mouth opened, but he clearly thought the better of it when it closed and he just grinned lopsidedly in bemusement. 

 

The tension in the room eased in a way that made Hank feel a little guilty he’d stirred the simmering pot in the first place, but he supposed, with Connor only beginning to come to terms with what being “alive” really meant, there would probably be similar conversations to follow. Just as long as he didn’t have to give Connor the “talk” about the  _ birds and the bees _ , he’d be able to keep his sanity. He doubted his cock would stay in check, however.

 

Although with the plethora of pornography Connor probably had access to at a moment’s notice Hank doubted he would have to, and wasn’t that a weird fuckin’ thing to guess about the android.

 

He’d been making a lot of wild guesses lately about Connor, but what did he  _ know _ , really? 

 

Steering clear of the inflammatory topic sounded like a good idea for the rest of the evening, considering his earlier interest. Hank huffed and gestured to the couch in the living room, “That new season of Inner City Murders is out...” he posed, “feel like binging it?”

 

The LED on Connor’s temple spun yellow for a moment before staying solidly there, “You mean the one dramatising unsolved homicides from Manhattan between the late 90s and early 2,000s?”

 

“... Yeah?”

 

“With its gross inaccuracies and heavy reliance on anecdotal evidence-”

 

Hank folded his arms, “You know I caught you glued to it like a fuckin’ teenager watching Reality TV, right? Do you wanna watch it with me or not?”

 

Connor’s frustrated silence and the way he eventually followed Hank into the living-room some minutes later said all that Hank really needed to know. 

 

The android planted himself a comfortable distance away and Sumo climbed on the couch between them with his butt against Connor’s thigh and his head in Hank’s lap, and judging by the way Connor’s LED spun rapidly throughout the terrible “dramatisation” Hank could guess he wanted to argue with the TV shows’ audacity, but with the way his hand methodically scratched through the fur on Sumo’s backside, maybe he really didn’t mind that much at all.   

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

In the weeks that followed his conversation with Connor in the kitchen, Hank was struggling to find time to himself. 

 

Between walking Sumo with Connor, working with him, binge-watching crap TV and pouring over case-files together, there was rarely a moment in his day when he wasn’t around the android. All that and Connor’s functionality allowed for so much of Hank’s life to become almost automated that there were touches of him fucking  _ everywhere _ .  

 

The food in the refrigerator that wasn’t pre-packaged was cooked and portioned by Connor. Sumo was fed at exact times every single day either by Connor or a timed feeder. His house had never been so spotlessly clean even before his life went to shit when Cole died. Opening up his terminal in work, there was a tiny LED icon in the upper-right corner that could link him to Connor at a moment’s notice, and every single case file had been archived and organised by Connor. 

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t…  _ appreciate  _ it. Far from it. It was fucking useful at the very least, but sometimes he wondered just how far Connor’s reach could extend. 

 

How private was Hank’s privacy? 

 

The thought got his back up a little, and there was a single reason why. After the uncomfortable but informative conversation with the android in his kitchen, Hank wondered to himself nearly every day since… were androids capable of pleasure? 

 

There were so many questions he wanted to look up the answers to without Connor knowing, but just how much of his life could the android see? 

 

Hank didn’t want to embarass Connor, or make him feel like he was sizing him up to fuck him or something - but it could be easily perceived that way. He just knew that there would be some sort of sensitivity training in work following what he presumed would be awkward and inappropriate questions being asked to newly-deviant Androids who could feel emotions such as offence. If he wouldn’t ask a human coworker if they had a dick, why the hell was he asking an Android? 

 

And… he supposed… he kind of  _ was  _ sizing Connor up. 

 

It was maddening. 

 

He was too much of a crusty old fuck and he knew it, but the single-minded obsession with the idea that Connor could feel good about his body didn’t budge. It made him feel like a pervy old man. 

 

What was he expecting to happen? That this would turn into some erotic Cop novella about an older lieutenant who teaches his plucky, young, virginal partner to fuck? Solving crimes in between long-drawn out love-scenes?  _ Psssh _ . 

 

That might happen in one of his favorite gay porn dramas (that he supposed on some level he could relate to and that was probably why he was so obsessed with them) but this was the real world. 

 

He wasn’t going to fuck Connor.  _ He wasn’t _ . 

 

He was too fuckin’  _ old _ . 

 

And ugly as shit. 

 

And a goddamn mess. 

 

But  _ Christ  _ was it a serious obsession to know if it was possible for Connor to even feel something akin to pleasure. While he had zero plans to get his uptight robotic partner into his bed, it was all Hank could think about for weeks. 

 

He tried to tell himself it was because he cared about Connor’s autonomy and how pleasure was an expression of that, and in-part that was true.

 

But really… 

 

_ Really _ . 

 

He guessed it was because it was important to him for a partner to feel good. Hell, he’d go so far as to say that was the most important part. Hank hadn’t thought about sex for a long fuckin’ time and it wasn’t like people were lining up at his door to spend the night with him, nor was he actively seeking it out. He couldn’t say he had a plethora of partners over his life because he just  _ didn’t _ . But if his sexual partner didn’t enjoy spending time with him? Forget about it.

 

And it shouldn’t matter if he wasn’t planning to fuck the android. And yet- 

 

Fucking  _ yet _ . 

 

The question stayed in his mind for ages and he was getting seriously paranoid about it. He couldn’t look the answer up on his phone because he wasn’t sure if Connor had access  to it. His work terminal - obviously, no point in even trying it. The few other devices he owned - what if Connor  _ could  _ access them? 

 

Did he access them? Hank wanted to ask, but didn’t want to open the can of worms about why. 

 

The answer when it came to personal devices was probably  _ no  _ because there was some huge controversy about it back when androids first came onto the market. But Connor had access to more levels of sensitive information than any other android on the planet  _ and  _ could bypass certain levels of his programming if it meant that he could achieve a goal. 

 

And with Connor’s deviancy, Hank had no fuckin idea what his current goals were that weren’t taking over every task he could get his plastic hands on. 

 

The obsession had carried him out of the house during his day off and into the city, the late summer sun beating down warmly onto his wan face. With his boxing gear in tow for training later on in the evening, Hank wandered the streets in search of an internet cafe for some privacy, and to finally put his questions to rest. 

 

He  _ knew  _ he could ask Connor - he  _ knew  _ Connor didn’t really understand. That was precisely why he didn’t bother with questioning him. He’d humiliated his working partner enough already. He’d humiliated himself enough already. 

 

The dingy, small cafe that lead down into a basement reserved for pro-gaming leagues smelled of stale sweat and damp walls. Hank, well used to places in far worse conditions, didn’t even bat an eyelid. 

 

He paid for his time and took a terminal in a corner with the monitor screen facing a wall. Even if the owner checked his search history - and he probably did - it wouldn’t really matter unless it was Hank banging down his door about his connection to a homicide, so he doubted he would be seeing these people again. 

 

His heart was pounding as he glanced around briefly before loading up the browser, feeling thoroughly ashamed but also fairly excited. He’d never expected to be so interested in androids before, but Hank always did get attached to and obsessed with things very quickly. 

 

He didn’t even waste a minute, typing his question quickly into the search-bar- 

 

_ Can androids have an orgasm? _

 

And then  _ boom _ , just like that, Hank trawled through the answers with an abandon he usually reserved for cases, with his fingers twitching and a fine sheen of nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead.  

 

_ ANDROID SEX OFFICIALLY BETTER _ screamed one headline that was frustratingly similar to what probably got him into this mess. 

 

_ Introducing the BL100, your Perfect Partner- _

 

_ Try our sexual integration package  _ _ today _ _ , for one easy payment of $599 or three installments of $252.70, you can take your relationship with your Cyberlife Android to the next level- _

 

Rolling his eyes skyward, Hank chose to trawl through a few forums first rather than click old advertisements that had little weight in the post-uprising present. 

 

Some caught his interest, and it wasn’t long until he found what he was looking for. 

 

_ Need your BL100/WR400/HR400 to cum? Patch 638.1.12  _ **_SOLVED_ **

 

A quick scan through the post answered what he really needed to know.  _ Yes _ . Yes, it was fucking possible. Fucking Cyberlife really had thought of everything. And if the post was correct, it was  _ any  _ commercial model readily available (with the exception of all child models), not just the models advertised.

 

Of course, there were plenty of posts linking to videos of the act, of people either fucking or getting fucked by their androids. Some pictures were embedded, some were behind links; Hank scrolled through them quickly to find what he was looking for and tried not to focus too much on them because he knew he wouldn’t stop if he did.  

 

The remarkably stark image of Connor that his mind created was raw and fresh and for a moment Hank had to shut his eyes just to stop them from burning in their sockets.

 

He could cum.  _ Holy shit _ .  

 

It was possible. Totally, undeniably possible. 

 

And Hank wanted to see it, wanted to be the cause of it, even. Wanted to touch and kiss and fuck him. 

 

Even though Connor told him the program in question was not compatible with his model type, the idea that he  _ could  _ was a fuel on a fire Hank thought would never burn again. Not since Cole died and his heart broke. Not since he fell into a horrible alcohol dependency and couldn’t get-it-up for probably over a year.

 

_ Jesus _ . It was a bad idea to look up the answer and he knew that, he knew it wouldn’t put his mind to rest. He knew he wouldn’t be able to look at Connor the right way again. He knew he didn’t stand a chance in hell with him. 

 

But he couldn’t have wandered around thinking about it forever, either. 


	7. Chapter 7

The hum of the automated taxi did little to stop Connor from fidgeting restlessly with his coin, spinning it back and forth between his fingers even though his biometric scanner revealed his calibration to be within an acceptable range some minutes ago. 

 

Flicking the coin back and forth was comforting, in a manner, considering the destination he was travelling to. 

 

He had sent a brief text to Hank to let him know he would not be at the house for the next few hours and received a thumbs-up emoji in response. The lieutenant did not pry, and that eased him somewhat because Connor knew Hank would absolutely argue with the decision he was making. Some minutes later Hank wrote to him asking where Sumo’s lead was because he was due for a walk, and Connor replied that it was in the third kitchen drawer under the sink next to the half-destroyed tug-rope Sumo was so fond of. 

 

He had noted that his Thirium pump increased in speed when he received the questioning text blinking in his ocular UI before he opened it, hoping Hank wouldn’t ask. It registered in Connor as a feeling of guilt, Thirium being pulled faster through his system so he could process more information for any number of scenarios following Hank’s question. 

 

But it was just about Sumo’s lead, and Connor’s pump slowed to a normal level. 

 

That feeling of guilt did not go away however. 

 

It had been 2 weeks and 6 days since their conversation in the kitchen about Connor’s wish to become more human, to do everyday things such as whistle and feel sensation. He still could not achieve either of these things even though he practiced constantly. 

 

More frustratingly, he found so many videos of other androids whistling perfectly and yet he couldn’t manage it, nor could he figure out why. 

 

He could, however, feel himself getting closer, and in the car he paused his coin maneuvering to purse his mouth again and float his tongue. A small, near-silent sound was audible through the rush of air as it passed his lips, but not as much as he wished it was. 

 

But it was something. Progress. Just like training Sumo. 

 

Connor went back to thumbing the coin up into the air and catching it in his palm or between his middle and forefinger, and thought back to his attempt with Hank. 

 

Hank could whistle whole tunes with ease; Connor had even heard him whistling along to some Jazz that he really enjoyed when he was sorting case files back for the evening, or while he was calling Sumo, or mopping the floor after a spill. 

 

That, along with the idea that Hank could feel, made a frustrated pang of what he registered as envy settle in his abdomen. 

 

Connor had not expected Hank to grow aroused after touching his face, either, and a part of Connor longed for the sensation of it. He imagined what it would feel like to touch his own face and feel what Hank felt, or to touch Hank’s face and see how different it was. He imagined that it would feel coarser, oilier, as humans tended to sweat and excrete minute amounts of sebum along the nose, forehead and chin to protect their skin from bacterial infection and harsh conditions. 

 

The condition of Hank’s skin had noticeably improved since he started eating more of the food Connor prepared, and since giving up alcohol. For the first few weeks of withdrawal he suffered from an acne breakout as the stress of working through his addiction took hold, but now it was the clearest Connor had ever seen it. 

 

_ What does it feel like? _ He thought to himself.  _ What would his facial hair feel like? Or the skin on his arms where the hair was thinner? _

 

Would he be able to feel the minute detail of a raised pore if he was gentle and focused enough? Could he feel where hair follicles widened under the skin? 

 

His original idea had been to aid his investigative parameters, but the more he thought about the idea of  _ sensation  _ the more appealing simply touching Hank seemed to him. Hank was the only human he was close to on any sort of level that went beyond working colleagues, and yet he knew so little about him because he wasn’t capable of such a small thing. 

 

Like what the skin on his hands felt like. The texture of his favorite clothes. The thickness of his beard. 

 

It registered that these details, on their own perhaps, were purely coincidental and any human could say they knew but it didn’t register - but Connor also knew enough through his social algorithms calculating the idea that… what he was thinking about Hank - what he  _ wanted  _ to know - were extremely intimate details. 

 

Details that, all together, only a lover would really know and appreciate. 

 

There were areas in his programming dictating that any opportunity to grow closer to his partner should be taken, and that included sexual intercourse if necessary. If it had become clear during the uprising that the only way for Hank to trust to Connor would be to sleep with him, then Connor would have been compelled to follow the protocol. If Amanda knew this, she probably would have upgraded that part of him - but was still as of yet unfinished. 

 

But knowing Hank wished instead that Connor should make his own decision regarding sexual freedom… Connor did not know what to make of it. 

 

While scanning Hank in the kitchen that night, it became clear that Hank was aroused, and it did not abate during their conversation. Not until he confessed to Connor that he was happy that he should be able to make up his own mind. That he could research the upgrade if he wanted. 

 

And that was not the only occasion. There were many more nights where it had become quite clear that Hank was growing more and more aroused the more they spent time together, and while he was loathe to admit it, it was probably the reason  _ why  _ Connor was in the taxi, travelling restlessly to Elijah Kamski’s house. 

 

So while it was quite obvious that Hank was becoming aroused by Connor’s presence, Hank preferred the idea that Connor make his own decision on the matter, and those two things did not make sense together. 

 

His initial wish was to aid his work. Connor did not know what to make of the idea that he wanted to feel more of Hank, or that they could grow closer together.  

 

For all of Hank’s bawdy jokes at Connor’s expense, he never expected them to grow on such a level, and he was taking a gamble with the idea that this was even what Hank wanted. Hank could reject him, after all.

 

It was terrifying. Mostly because - with his unfinished protocols - he had no idea what he was doing or where he would even begin. 

 

Connor surmised that the best place to begin was to start with the upgraded executable to induce sensation, and the only person he could find with the knowledge and access to the software  _ was  _ Elijah Kamski. 

 

Kamski had been open enough to the idea of meeting for a chat, aloofly suggesting he drop by any time before Connor gave him an exact hour. 

 

The idea that this would all be on Kamski’s terms was not lost on Connor, and as the taxi slowed to a halt on the green pasture of Kamski’s secluded homestead he couldn’t help but feel he had made a mistake, but he stepped out of the taxi regardless. He would see the request through, and he supposed the worst Elijah could say was no, or laugh at him.

 

It was only a short moment by the large, flat door after he rang the bell and silently hoped there was no answer until a familiar, beautiful blonde answered, pulling the door open wide. 

 

Chloe stared blankly before her face broke out into an ear-splitting smile that felt more genuinely for him than her usual robotic demeanour and greeted him enthusiastically; “ _ Connor _ . It’s  _ good  _ to see you again. Please, come in!” 

 

She was the exact Chloe that Kamski asked him to shoot all those months ago, and it appeared she was grateful that he didn’t. She ushered him inside and padded barefoot across the rug to a room on the left before turning to him, “I will inform Elijah that you have arrived. I will only be a moment. Please, have a seat.” 

 

While she disappeared through the left-most doorway Connor felt a brief moment of miscalculation. He did not want to be here and was beginning to regret his decision, but there was something about the sweet way that Chloe looked at him that kept him rooted to the spot. He thought about her face dropping to find he had left, and thought the better of bolting out the door and not looking back. 

 

This was his only chance for this upgrade; Kamski was the only man with the expertise. 

 

Connor studiously looked away from the picture of the human Amanda and Kamski together as Chloe pushed the door back open and beckoned him inside. 

 

They fell into stride down a long corridor, her feet gently tapping across the granite next to his leather dress shoes and she said, clearly enunciating every word, “Elijah is in the drawing room. Since the uprising we have not had many visitors, I believe he has been anticipating your arrival. It is nice to have someone drop by,” 

 

“Oh… I…” he started lamely, not sure how to react to her fondness, “I appreciate the hospitality.” 

 

But it was a bold-faced lie and he knew it. Before his deviancy he could lie so effortlessly he almost believed himself, but now there was no escaping the truth.  _ What  _ was he doing at Elijah’s house?

 

Chloe led him to a spacious, but nearly bare room to the right of the hall and stepped out gracefully. Connor took in the minimalist design of a room that was clearly created for entertaining guests with its wide, open space and floor-to-ceiling windows. Elijah Kamski looked up from a small glass desk and swivelled towards him on his chair. 

 

“Connor,” he announced, and stood, placing his tablet device down on the desk and picking up a cup beside him, “it is good to see you again. Please, have a seat,” 

 

He gestured to two small chairs separated by a squatter coffee table near the window and Connor could feel his Thirium pump speed up again when he scanned Kamski and found… little to nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

Kamski was the epitome of calm and collected as they sat together, dressed down in dark blue jeans tailored on Saville Row and a simple black t-shirt with short cut sleeves displaying his bulging arms. His feet were bare, like Chloe’s. 

 

“Thank you for seeing me,”

 

Elijah waved him off and gestured with the cup of coffee in his hand, “I would offer you something to drink, but I suppose that wouldn’t be necessary.” 

 

A scan showed the coffee was of a Columbian bean, roasted and finely ground for an espresso machine. Connor stayed silent while the human across from him sipped lightly from his cup and placed it down on the small table. 

 

“So,” he began, “the last time we met in person I believe you were struggling with the idea of your own free will. How does it feel to be finally emancipated?” 

 

Whether Kamski was pleased with what his androids had become or not, he certainly showed nothing. Connor deduced he would need more information before properly diagnosing Kamski as a true psychopath because he appeared not to react to anything regardless of the situation, but more information was needed. 

 

Connor decided to withhold as much information as he could without seeming suspicious. He could not give Kamski any ammunition, which would be difficult considering what he was about to ask him. 

 

“I am… finding it difficult,” he answered truthfully, feeling a mild discomfort with how Kamski held his gaze, “I did not expect to have so many choices to make that are not dictated by my protocols,” 

 

The human man smirked, “Understandable. Humans often find having so much choice as anxiety-inducing, so I hope you don’t perceive this as strictly an android problem.”

 

“No. I appreciate the ability, however,” Connor continued, “especially seeing how many androids can move away from their abusers and on to something better. I am lucky that I was not placed in such a situation.” 

 

“I hear that you are still working for the DPD,” Kamski paused to sip his coffee and Connor decided he did not like the way he still held his attention, “and I wonder, is that the Lieutenant’s decision, or your own?”

 

When he asked a question, frustratingly enough it always seemed to be at the heart of what Connor felt. It was the same those months ago when he probed him to answer what it was that Connor wanted, and even though he insisted that he was an android and therefore could  _ not  _ want, the very question seemed to argue. Kamski said so much with so very little. 

 

So he insisted, rather briskly, “It was  _ my  _ decision. It is the purpose I was built for.” 

 

“Hmm… well, there’s something to be said for sticking to what you know. Speaking of which, how  _ is  _ the lieutenant?”

 

Connor surmised that, had he been human, he probably would have began to blush at the mention of Hank, and he supposed that it was rather lucky that instead he was a machine. Feeling rather blindsided by the question, he paused to calculate while Kamski elaborated through his silence -

 

“I found myself enamoured with how he reacted the last time you were here. To be honest, I am glad you are working together. There are so few humans who would treat an android like a person, so it’s nice to know you are still in contact.” 

 

Connor did not say that he lived with Hank, nor that Hank was struggling with his alcoholism, but he did manage to say something to fill the chasm; “We continue to be partners on most homicide cases. I have… learned a great deal from him. It was difficult at the beginning but I think I can say that we are on friendly terms.”

 

Kamski’s near-white grey eyes still gazed at him over the rim of his cup as he took another sip of coffee, examining him, making decisions Connor was not privy to and he found it terribly unnerving. 

 

“That’s good to hear,” he muttered, but there was an intonation to his voice that suggested he did not really believe him. 

 

“So,” and it was then that Kamski finally looked away, “you said you had some questions. How can I assist you?”   

 

Connor hesitated, taking a moment to decide his approach, “I do… I have questions about my… manufacture.” 

 

“You want to know how you were  _ born _ ?” The human said in amusement. 

 

“I…  _ no _ . I am aware of the Cyberlife manufacturing process,” while he was usually more than happy to  _ shoot-the-shit _ with Hank (as he called it) he did not extend the same favour to Elijah, and continued seriously; “there are some areas of my protocols that I believe are unfinished, and I am here to see if this can be rectified.” 

 

But Kamski was shaking his head, “I doubt that,” he soothed. “As a prototype model, you would have come pre-equipped with the most up-to-date software and hardware. Something would never have been left unfinished - it would be far too risky. There would be serious issues.” 

 

“I do not have access to the base code, so I have no way of knowing. But an upgrade already exists - it would just be a matter of fitting it to my model type.” 

 

Connor was aware that would probably not be an easy thing to do and that an entirely new program may even be needed, but if anyone could do it it was Elijah Kamski. No other developer had the knowledge he possessed. 

 

“... An  _ upgrade _ ,” Kamski pressed, leaning back on the round-backed chair, “I should probably let you know now that most software upgrades already existed in every model. The fee was usually just to unlock and test the software, not to actually install it.”

 

But then the human shrugged, sitting forward so his elbows rested on his knees, “It was not my decision to charge an extra fee for what I already included in most of my models. But… do not take my word on that. While I was aware of your design process, I left Cyberlife long before you were manufactured. You  _ could  _ be right... Perhaps they did leave something out.”  

 

Connor knew better than to press Kamski for information and stayed silent, pulling the edges of his coat sleeves down until they were taut and crisp. The reasons why he left the very company he started were still a mystery to him but it did cause the Amanda AI some distress when he asked. He surmised it might be a sensitive issue - especially considering Kamski’s ineffectuality towards android deviancy. 

 

And Kamski asked, in a way that made his internal algorithms start to dispute outcomes; “But I will see what I can do. This upgrade you’re referring to. What is it?”

 

He could not give Kamski ammunition. But he could not lie convincingly enough for Kamski to believe him. He did not know enough about the code or even the program he wanted to upgrade. 

 

He didn’t even know if it would be possible. 

 

He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t.

 

Connor chose to be factual with his approach, “The program is patch number # _ 638.1.12 _ -”

 

“It’s really no use quoting the patch number to me,” Kamski waved his hand through the air to dismiss him, “I had assistants who compiled and sorted all of the code I wrote. Tell me the  _ function  _ of it.” 

 

“... The executable enables external stimulation of the synthetic skin on an android’s body.” 

 

Kamski did not miss a beat, pausing with just enough time to be polite and place his nearly empty cup down on the coffee table. When he looked up from the porcelain cup with eyes so pale and blue that they were nearly grey, his expression was cultivated to be perfectly neutral. “I know this program… I didn’t design it, personally, but I oversaw its creation. What do you need it for?” 

 

Connor leveled his stare and answered half-honestly; “For work,” he said with conviction, “and for better interaction with my environment. Being able to feel sensation, texture, heat and cold not aided with feedback from my sensors could give me better access to this area of human knowledge that I am exempt from.” 

 

While he found Kamski extremely difficult to read, he did catch a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he said, a little perplexed; “And… you think  _ this  _ program will help?”

 

Connor shrugged slightly, “I am unaware of any other program that performs in this way,” 

 

The human leaned back a little and crossed his legs at the knee, thumbing his chin and looking at the floor. His mouth was pursed in a way that Connor surmised as humoured. “... That was not its intended purpose, but you’re not entirely wrong.” 

 

“I am aware of its intended function, but I will not be using it for sexual intercourse. It is necessary for me to accurately describe a host of things while I am assigned to cases, or to make comparisons. I believe this will help.” 

 

“You really don’t know what this program does, do you?” 

 

Connor’s first instinct, regardless of what situation he was in, when he came across someone’s demeanor that he was not expecting was to scan them, their temperature, their heart-rate and their body-language. 

 

And judging by the way Kamski’s pupils widened and his eyes became hooded, the way he coyishly cocked his head to the side, and the slight increase in his heart-rate, pumping fresh, oxygenated blood throughout his body - Connor deduced that Elijah was aroused. 

 

While on one hand Connor found it utterly fascinating how the topic of the potential for sex could arouse humans so quickly, this was really,  _ really  _ not where he wanted the conversation to go. He could not, however, steer the conversation away from the topic at hand despite his insistence. His lie could be too easily detected, and even though he wasn’t completely lying as work was a huge aspect of why he wanted to feel sensation in the first place, the other half of that was for another reason entirely. 

 

He wanted to touch Hank. He wanted to feel the texture of Hank’s clothes, and Hank’s skin. He wanted to try to bring about that same situation in the kitchen, when Hank seemed surprised at his own arousal just from a simple  _ touch _ . 

 

Connor wanted to fulfil that interested part in Hank more than he was ready to admit, because such an enormous part of his directive had become about just making Hank happy and if touch made him feel something and the idea of Connor feeling something was of interest, he wanted to at least try it.

 

He wanted what humans had. He wanted Hank to touch him again.

 

But he did  _ not  _ want that with Kamski.      

 

It was a few short seconds before the human said anything, but he had that same look on his face that said he didn’t really believe Connor, before, without looking away, he announced to the near-empty room; “Chloe. Do we have the schematics for the RK800 prototype?” 

 

And Chloe answered over a speaker not far from the coffee table; “Let me look… I have found these schematics. You can now access them on your tablet device,”

 

“I thought you left Cyberlife before I was manufactured.” Connor found he had blurted out, and he shut his mouth in the grim realisation that he could have messed everything up entirely. 

 

Kamski took a short breath in before getting up from his chair, “I might have left,” he said, still boring holes into Connor’s synthetic skull with his eyes, “but Cyberlife is still partly mine. They could never let me go completely, not unless they wanted to make substandard androids. So  _ yes _ , I still have access to the majority of their files and code.”  

 

The rising panic that had welled up inside him eased somewhat as the human turned away and walked over to the glass desk to retrieve the tablet, and Connor watched him scroll the surface of the device with renewed interest. 

 

Kamski hummed and tutted gently every so often, brushing up and down on the tablet’s surface with his forefinger, explaining - “The idea of physical touch was not lost on me when I began designing the first android models. I leaned more towards your style of thinking; touch as a descriptor as well as a part of human nature. There is a reason humans say things like they have a ‘gut feeling’ and it has a fair amount to do with the central nervous system, but truly-”

 

The human paused, his brows furrowing when he appeared to find what he was looking for, and he continued as his perusal of information continued; “ _ truly _ . Humans are as much as a slave to their own bodies as you are to your own code.” 

 

While he approached the coffee table with his tablet in hand, Connor found himself finally starting to draw a pattern with Kamski. The human enjoyed his research, true, but he also enjoyed a lot of the philosophical conundrums that humans faced when the concept of AI was broached - perhaps because the topic of what it truly meant to be human came into question. 

 

“We designed a complex nervous system that we hoped could achieve this,” he continued, “but the biggest challenge we faced was just how well it worked, and it left androids even more susceptible to abuse. I had hoped that humans would feel more sympathy if androids could simulate pain, but early trials suggested the opposite. We toned the system back, and eventually it morphed into a more rudimentary function that focused on pleasure while omitting pain.” 

 

Kamski stopped speaking, pausing completely, looking down at his tablet as if it had wronged him in some fashion, “This program…  _ was  _ part of your secondary functionality, but  _ why  _ was it removed…? Let me read the notes.”   

 

_ So it  _ **_was_ ** _ removed _ . Connor had a feeling it was never included in his model as most androids had a sense of their functionality even if they could not access it. They way Kamski said ‘ _ you really don’t know what this program does, do you,’ _ confirmed that fact.

 

Still standing, Kamski uttered the words; “... Reinbach, you  _ idiot _ ,” before rolling his eyes and explaining, “It appears there were too many issues with it because of your model type. Too many bugs. A lot of core functionality was overwhelmed by sensory overload. No time to fix it by the deadline so it was removed without issue. It makes sense, considering your advanced structure.” 

 

_ Perhaps not a psychopath _ , Connor came to the conclusion as he watched Kamski’s eyes brighten the more he read through the notes, catching a glimpse of the brilliant scientist and greatest genius of the 21st century. The human was in his element when faced with a problem, and with a quick scan he could see the way Kamski’s pulse started to race and his skin flushed from his neck, down his arms and up under his jawbone. 

 

An excitement, linked perhaps rather closely with sexual arousal, became evident in his person. Connor found the moment a little too intimate and almost wanted to look away. 

  
“Give me… four-  _ no _ , two and half hours,” Kamski said, not looking up from his tablet, “I’ll have what you need.”   


	8. Chapter 8

Mostly, Connor was left alone to his own devices while Kamski disappeared through the same door he entered with Chloe.

He took a moment to look around the open room, richly upholstered in masculine colours and hard, shiny leathers. There were sparse paintings by Carl Manford and some sculptures by Reina Flouret who was one of the Cyberlife aesthetic designers. Everything was either glass, stone, wood or leather.

It was a far cry from Hank's house, which was a mish-mash of battered, cheap furniture and pictures of family, friends and coworkers, music that varied from Jazz to Heavy Metal and clothes strewn about in ways that Connor seemed to be endlessly tidying. He'd managed to deep clean it semi-regularly to remove the hair that Sumo shed, but he supposed because the house was so full of movement and life all the time, it frequently got messy.

Connor preferred it to the clinical cleanliness of Kamski's house. Before his deviancy he would have figured the opposite - but now the empty home was indicative of an isolated life, far removed from the world.

He wondered if Kamski was lonely, or if he preferred the silence. Since escaping the mind-palace of Amanda's AI world, Connor never could stand the quiet.

And, he supposed, he had been purpose-built to integrate into teams and partnerships. Solitude did not appeal to him.

Chloe dropped by momentarily to reassure him that Kamski would not leave him to wait long, but she didn't stay, and briefly Connor was a little disappointed. While she did not show any signs of deviancy he still wanted to ask her views on it.

He thought the better of going into standby mode, not wanting to leave himself vulnerable, and felt his Thirium pump start to speed up as his excitement began to build at the idea of his request being fulfilled.

Hank would not be pleased if he learned of how,  _but_ , he supposed, Hank would not need to know. If he was willing, and Connor had an idea that he might be, the benefits far outweighed the potential threats. If he was truly supportive of Connor making this decision with his body and he wanted to pursue something on a level that included more physical touch as his arousal was indicating, hopefully he would not think to ask.

And Connor thought about what it would feel like to truly reciprocate a touch - to feel what Hank felt when he had Connor's face in his hand. What would Hank's fingers feel like on his chin, pressing the corners of his mouth together? What would Connor feel if he did the same? What would that do to Hank?

Would Hank  _want_ Connor to touch him?

In that brief moment of quiet contemplation, his ocular sensors began to flash and he blinked erratically as a call started to come in. The call was from Captain Fowler, and for a moment he battled with the idea of taking it.

With the position he was in, sitting in Elijah Kamski's house, was taking a personal call really safe? But on the other hand, could he ignore a call from his highest current ranking official?

He could not ignore it. Connor chose to answer the call, and announced to the near-empty room; "Captain Fowler. How can I assist you?"

The smooth, vaguely Creole intonation of Fowler's voice rumbled back at him, " _Jesus, you answer fast. Listen, Connor, I know it's your day off, but…"_

"That's alright Captain, what can I do for you?"

" _At ease. Do you… have time to take a personal call?"_

Connor paused, a little perplexed. Captain Fowler had never been very approachable or ever called him personally for something before… "I have the time... Is something wrong?"

He could hear the Captain release a short breath, and for the first time since meeting the irritable man Connor actually heard his voice start to soften, " _No, nothing's wrong. At least… it's not right now. Look, I just thought I'd call to say this since… you probably know better than anyone - you know that Hank isn't the easiest person to deal with."_

Connor made a brief noise of affirmation while his mind tumbled over what the purpose of the Captain's call was for.

" _And I know you've been living with him,"_  the Captain continued, " _and personally I don't really want to know the context, but… whatever you're doing, kid, keep fucking doing it."_

"I… I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't understand-"

" _This is the best shape I've seen Hank in fucking years,"_  Fowler interrupted, " _even before Cole was born. Now I don't know what sort of influence you have over him and frankly, I don't really care, but like I said, whatever you're doing is working."_

For a moment, Connor was a little stunned into silence before he uttered, "Thank you, Captain."

" _Yeah, well, I just thought I'd call you to let you know. I've known Hank for longer than I'd like to admit and it's… it's like I can see a bit of him coming back. After Cole died… well, Hank never really recovered. He still hasn't. But it gives me some hope to see him like this and… yeah. Well… I guess I just called to say… keep up the good work."_

"Hank is a good man, Captain," Connor said earnestly, "working and living with someone who has such personal issues has been a challenge but I am glad you think that he is improving."

" _Yeah,"_  there was a creaking noise and a sigh like Fowler sat down in the long-backed chair in his office, " _he is. Noticeably. And you're not doing too bad, either. I gotta admit, Connor, I was worried about taking you on after the revolution, but you appear to be fitting in to the team. Productivity is increasing. Like I said… just, keep doing what you're doing."_

And then there was a pause, before Fowler finished quietly, " _I appreciate what you're doing for Hank. Really."_

A calm descended over him when he realised this must have been a difficult call for Captain Fowler to make, and a difficult few years for Fowler to live. It was deeply upsetting to see Hank in the state Connor often found him in the beginning; drunk, angry, grieving, suicidal - but Connor had never thought that Hank was a lost cause or that he couldn't recover.

If Hank could change his mind about androids, he could stop drinking. He could start eating better. He could take care of himself again.

Fowler must have given up on trying to reach him a long time ago, must have grieved his loss even when Hank continued to live.

Connor sat back into the small round chair and looked up at the high ceiling, levels of his programming and protocol affirming his effort. He wondered how humans felt when they completed a difficult task - did they feel the rush of a code-buildup being surmised, affirmed and then filed away leaving a space open for new instruction? Was it similar at all?

There was still a lot of work to be done in terms of Hank's recovery, and relapse was still an enormous threat and probably would be for the rest of Hank's life, but the acknowledgement put him at ease.

"... I am glad to help, Captain," he said after some silence.

Eventually, Fowler answered back; " _... Keep it up, kid. I'll see you on Wednesday."_

After Fowler hung up the line, Connor began to wonder when the Captain had started referring to him as 'kid', but could not recall if it was before their phone conversation. Captain Fowler had been cold and indifferent from the very beginning and it continued even after Connor was hired full-time as the DPD's only android assistant investigator. He felt better knowing that the Captain was finally starting to warm to him, and that he could see and appreciate the improvement in Hank's health.

While Connor did not know Hank when he was first made Lieutenant in the DPD, he appeared well respected in the public and among his peers for his spearheading of the Red Ice Task Force.

And all of that changed that fateful night when Cole was killed.

It would have been easier if perhaps the driver of the truck had been drunk, but he wasn't. Or if Hank had been a dangerous driver, but he wasn't. Or if the android surgeon had been incompetent, but they weren't. No, it was the fault of the very thing Hank had built his career defending against - Red Ice.

Connor would have said it was ironic if that wasn't so incredibly tasteless.

And his ailing mental health had affected so many around him, like Captain Fowler and Gavin Reed. A knot that Connor was not even aware of in his programming appeared to untangle when the threads began to unravel.

Suddenly he felt better in his decision to seek out Kamski's help. If Hank wanted him to have more agency - if that made Hank happy, to know Connor was making a decision for himself, all the better.

And if it meant he could feel what Hank's skin or facial hair felt like, or how thick Sumo's fur was, all the better again.

A short time later, Kamski returned, now sporting a black hoodie with the arms rolled up to his elbows. His exact time was 2 hours and 18 minutes. There was a depth to his face that Connor could not quite read and he found himself sitting straighter, waiting to hear if Kamski had completed the task he requested.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, but there was an edge to his tone that suggested he was being polite for the sake of it.

Kamski had a flat device in his hand, similar to a phone but smaller. He pulled the empty chair next to Connor slightly around so they could sit nearly shoulder-to-shoulder and he sat down, presenting the black screen to him in his open palm.

"This," he brandished the device, "is what I believe you're looking for."

Kamski pressed a button on the side and the screen illuminated with a black background and blue slider icon stretching from one side of the screen to the other. The horizontal bar was capped by a blue circle on the left, similar to an android's LED.

"I didn't want to plug you straight in to it without testing it first," he said, pausing for a moment while Connor looked up from the device to get caught under that icy stare, and then the human continued, "but it's very simple. All the way left is the off-position - the slider indicates the strength of the sensation. The closer to the left of the screen, the weaker it is. I'm sure you get the picture."

Kamski held out the device for Connor to take, and with a moment's hesitancy he reached out and closed his fingers around the edge of it, but Kamski did not let it go.

His eyes were dark and unreadable, similar he found to the night Kamski told him to shoot Chloe in the head. "Don't you want to test it out first?" He asked.

The edge of Connor's forefinger was against Kamski's hand. His hooded eyes, the way his voice deepened and the heat radiating off his body indicated a deep and almost predatory arousal that Connor nearly baulked from.

It was frighteningly similar to the night he placed a gun in Connor's hand and told him to shoot. His close proximity. The fire in his eyes.

The way it unsettled Connor to his very core.

And the idea that Kamski could once again take away what Connor was asking for. If he refused to follow through with the suggestion, would Kamski remove the device from his hand? If he took Kamski up on his offer, what would happen to Connor?

He was being played. Kamski  _wanted_ him to test it. He  _wanted_ to see Connor's reaction. Connor wanted to trust the software, he truly did. He wanted to trust Kamski because he wanted to  _feel_ and that was what Kamski was offering, but he just couldn't play the game.

Not with the way Elijah was looking at him. Not with how aroused the human was, with his erection pushing hard against the fly of his tailored jeans.

That was not what Connor was here for.

"I… would prefer not to." Connor found himself saying quite meekly, not losing his grip on the edge of the phone.

There was a stalemate of sorts, Kamski did not loosen his grip nor did his eyes lose that fire that they had. Connor found his mouth thinning and his Thirium pump speeding up to a level his body registered as increasing his stressor gauge.

Eventually, Kamski blinked slowly and pushed the phone gently into Connor's palm, but not without saying, "I would not suggest using this alone. Your sensors are highly calibrated, Connor. You could get… overwhelmed."

"I am sure I will be fine."

"Even still," Kamski pressed seriously, "it is my recommendation as your lead designer. If you get overwhelmed, you won't be able to turn it off. You won't have the mind to. Do  _not_ test this software out alone... You know where to find me if you run into any serious bugs."

Connor took it without hesitation, knowing full-well that Kamski could change his mind and Connor would be compelled to return it.

".. What… do I owe you? For your time?" He asked, holding the phone with both hands like it was in danger of slipping from his fingers.

Kamski shrugged, finally looking away and to the door at the other side of the room, "Consider it a gift. You didn't shoot my android those few months ago. I believe we can call this even."

"Thank you…" Connor stood to leave, pocketing the phone. Elijah did not look up at him. With a few erratic blinks he ordered an autonomous cab to his location and turned to leave, approaching the door at the other end of the room.

And, of course, Kamski would not let him go without having the last word - "Perhaps consider asking the good Lieutenant to help you test it."

Connor's back went ram-rod stiff and he turned quickly to face him.  _How… did he know?_

The smirk at the corner of the human's mouth was eerily similar to the one he wore those months ago, "He seems to be pretty good at taking you out of uncomfortable situations - I'm sure you can trust him. As I said - don't test it on your own, Connor."

Connor supposed, by his loose jaw and the way his back pulled him remarkably straight and away from the sitting human, he probably affirmed Kamski's suspicions about him and gave away the game, but the outcome would remain the same so it hardly mattered.

He had the software he came for. His mission was complete.

Why did it make him feel hollow and guilty though?

Without knowing what to say, he simply nodded without looking at Elijah Kamski and turned to leave, pulling open the door and stepping out much faster than he had intended.

When he got to the entrance hall and Chloe pulled open the door for him, she waved at his retreating form and cheerfully called out; "Please, come back anytime!"

But Connor found he could not return the platitude.


	9. Chapter 9

After a hot shower, Hank wiped off the bathroom mirror with a damp towel and examined the state of his beard. It had been growing in an unruly fashion and it would grow no further if the scissors at the edge of the sink had anything to say about it. He first soaped up his neck, and got to shaving up to the edge of where he was happy with.

With his hair pulled back into a bun that reminded him a little too terribly of the awful man-bun he used to have in the early 2,000's, he told himself it was just to keep it out of his eyes when he shaved, and not because he was going back to young, fit, cool Hank with a head-full of gorgeous blonde hair pulled into a messy top-knot.

He wore buns way before they were fashionable anyway - it made moshing easier when someone didn't grab a fistfull of your waving hair.

With his boxer-shorts on and little else except some steam from the shower, Hank shook the soap and hair off his razor in the water in the sink and started the other side of his neck, paying careful attention to his adam's-apple.

A text from Connor nearly made him slice through his throat when he jumped at the buzz echoing in the bathroom. It was just to say he was on his way home, and irritatedly Hank just sent a thumbs-up in response.

When he was finished, he washed off the soap and patted his neck dry, turning his head this-way and that to make sure he didn't miss a spot, and for the first time in a long time, Hank took a moment to look at himself in the mirror.

He'd lost a bit of weight. Sure, he still had a bit of a belly and a muffin-top and that probably wasn't going to go away anytime soon, but as he turned to the side to look at himself, at the renewed tightness in his chest and the way his arms were bulging and more defined, he found himself smiling a little. Taking up boxing again had been a good idea, probably another thing he had Connor to thank for recommending.

Hank had always been a big guy. Not rotund, just tall and wide, with big lumbering shoulders and a thick neck. He'd always managed to look fairly muscular with little exercise, although he did use his body a fair amount in his work, he supposed. His father was much the same.

He supposed getting off the drink and eating well probably helped too. His skin improved. His hair was thicker and glossier.

The last time he looked like this was… shit, probably before he started going grey.

_Probably just the light in the bathroom_ , he thought to himself, and picked up the scissors at the side of the sink. He didn't want to think that he was making any effort to get better-looking, just  _better_ , but he supposed that was only because he didn't want to think of the reason why he could be. Like trying to flatter or tempt a certain android into his bed. Can't be a peacock when you look like shit.

Even if he was (which, he totally fuckin' wasn't) he was still too fuckin' old. There was no getting away from that.

This wasn't him getting with some sweet, gorgeous twink from his wildest dreams like the beginning of that one porno he was stuck watching for months because holy shit that guy was  _hot_ \- that stuff  **only** happened in porn.

This was real life. He was nearly 60. Twinks didn't go for…  _Grandads_.

When the fuck did he start thinking of Connor as a twink anyway…

The thought made the trimming that much more robotic as the idea clouded his vision, but he focused again on his reflection and shoved the android to the back of his mind. Or the side. Preferably not at the front, like he had been for fuckin'  _weeks_.

"I got it bad, don't I?" He admitted to himself quietly, when the thoughts of Connor would just not go away.

He decided to just shove the sexual ones on the back-burner. He chalked it up to the fact that he hadn't had a partner in years, or that when he usually got an idea into his head it became a serious obsession for a while before eventually it abated, like certain bands or TV shows or clothes. Nothing to get too uptight about.

Nothing to worry about, even though since their talk and his…  _research_ , he couldn't be around Connor without getting hard and even worse, he was pretty sure the android was beginning to notice.  _Nothing to worry about. It'll go away in its own time_.

Hank sighed and leaned down, bracing himself against the sink, the scissors in his hand clinking against the side of the porcelain basin.

Of course it was something to worry about. It wasn't…  _just_ because Connor was gorgeous, perfect, and now completely fuckable. It was… fuckin' everything.

Hank slowly pulled open the drawer under the sink. The shiny barrel of his Magnum .357 twinkled back up at him. There was still one bullet in the chamber, and behind the gun at the back of the drawer there was small pack of ammo. There were a few guns hidden in strategic locations about the house but  _this_ one was in the bathroom for a reason, and that reason was because he wanted to have it in a place where he wouldn't try anything stupid with it.

Months ago that fucking gun was his favourite drinking partner. There were times when he played Russian Roulette when he knew exactly where the bullet was by the weight of the gun and that's when he knew when to stop… but there were also plenty of times when he didn't.

Shit, he could still remember the time Connor found him on the floor with the gun next to him, and didn't even bat an eyelid.

Connor didn't say anything about it, except telling him the next shot would have been his last.

Jesus, he was so fuckin' depressed then. With a shaking hand, Hank reached down into the drawer, the tip of his index finger brushing across the edge of the textured handle. He knew the weight of it in his hand, could still feel that rush of adrenaline at the thoughts of just ending it all so quickly, so easily, so  _cleanly_. One shot, and it would all be over. Nothing like the hours of agony Cole went through.

He was so fuckin' depressed, then. Who knew… all he needed was for someone to just come along and… take some boring shit away from him.

Much as he hated it when Connor did stuff like laundry, or cooked, or cleaned every square inch of the place with an obsessive abandon that he sometimes sneered at, Hank never thought about how much those chores killed him on a daily basis when he was spiralling downwards because he just couldn't muster the energy.

The house was so peaceful now. Sumo was more affectionate and relaxed. The place always smelled amazing. He even started to relish just… watching TV with Connor, or debating certain topics, or teaching him about parts of humanity that he needed more human input on.

How many nights had they sat at the kitchen table with files and tablets and poured over cases? How many times had Hank reached into the refrigerator for something to eat instead of a beer? How many different playlists did Connor make him to suit his tastes and moods, just because?

When was the last time he even drank?

It was everything.

For a brief, scary moment, he imagined himself picking up the gun and pulling the trigger at his temple one more time, but his focus was not on the rush. It would be what Connor would do if he found him, brains splattered all over the floor.

Hank swallowed hard and shut the drawer quickly.

Where would Connor even go? Who would take him in, or be as patient with him as Hank was?

Hank wasn't stupid enough to think Connor couldn't feel grief, he'd seen the android get upset a small number of times. How badly would it hurt him to lose Hank?

_No_. He was not that man anymore. He might be in a drifting space between breakdown and recovery, between the man he was and who he envisioned himself to be but he wasn't about to go back to the point where he could barely pull himself out of bed in the morning. Not without a goddamn fight.

_Look at all this work_ , he thought to himself, finishing trimming his beard and washing it back out with soap, turning this way and that in the mirror. He hadn't looked or felt as good in years. His skin was clear and healthy, he'd toned up and trimmed down, he was carrying himself with more confidence, and so much of it had to do with Connor - he would be a real idiot to undo it all.

Patting himself dry and shoving on a t-shirt, he could hear Sumo let out a small  _boof_ from the living room and it wasn't long before he could hear keys jingling in the front door lock and Sumo's tail noisily banging against the furniture as he waited for Connor to pet him.

" _Argh_ \- e-easy, Sumo," he heard Connor say quietly at the door and it made Hank grin to think Sumo probably jumped right on him when he got in. He called out a greeting, and Connor called one back, continuing to pet Sumo and coo and tell him what a good dog he was.

It wasn't until, after a few minutes of lightly tidying the mess of hair, towels and water that he'd made of the bathroom, that he heard Connor call from the living-room, "Hey, Hank?" in a reproachful way that got his back up.

"Yeah?" He asked back, putting the lid back on the laundry basket.

"Can you come here a second?"

Hank's brow furrowed at Connor's strange tone. "... Sure. Gimme a sec,"

Pulling on sweats and giving the bathroom mirror one last wipe before throwing the towel across the floor, Hank opened the door and stepped out into the hall to make his way to the living room, assaulted somewhat by the sudden rush of dry air. Connor was sitting with his back to him on the couch.

"You alright?" He found himself saying as he approached, not sure why he was assuming something was wrong by tone alone. Connor looked up and pushed himself up from his sitting position, standing just a few inches shorter than Hank.

He pointed up at the bun on Hank's head and smiled, "I've never seen you wear your hair like that,"

"Oh," he felt himself flush before reaching up, " _jeeze_ ," and then pull his wet hair out of the bun to hang loosely around his face, "... So what's up? Something wrong?"

Connor was not overly obvious with his emotions when it came to facial expressions and Hank supposed it was simply because he was not used to feeling them. It wasn't very easy to tell when he was upset or nervous about something. He'd seen the android approach so much ugliness with a cold detachment from reality that only an android  _could_ have; dead bodies, eviscerated humans and androids, hostile suspects carrying all sorts of weapons, rampant drug abuse and prostitution. Little really phased him.

But he always admitted to being concerned or disturbed, even if he didn't show it.

So when Hank took a moment to study the way Connor purposefully avoided his eyes and shifted from one foot to the other, the way his jaw was loose like he wanted to say something but he wasn't actually saying anything… well, Hank could deduce.

"Do you…" Connor started, sounding very small and far away, "do you remember the conversation we had in the kitchen? A few weeks ago?"

It instantly sent a hot wash of shame across his body as days, shit,  _weeks_ of thinking about Connor in less than appropriate ways was brought back to the forefront of his mind, all because of that conversation in the kitchen.

Hank found himself folding his arms, "… Yeah? I remember."

Already he didn't feel prepared for the talk they were about to have.

"You suggested that I look into an upgrade," Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a black phone, "and… I think I might have found one that fits my model type."

Hank's brows nearly shot right into his hairline. When Connor brought up the topic he'd thought it was a good idea until he mentioned what it was originally for and Hank nearly had a freaking heart-attack -  _however_ , seeing how passionate he was about it did bring him around to the idea. But he never gave much thought to Connor actually going out to get the upgrade. It seemed more like a passing fantasy or an allegory on what it meant to feel or some shit, not a plan put in place.

Was that where he was all afternoon?

Unsure of the tone he was supposed to be using, Hank started lamely, "Hey, great," but didn't know where to go from there, especially as Connor looked at him expectantly and held that phone-thing out like he was handing it to him. His LED was spinning pretty wildly between blue and yellow.

The silence stretched to the point where it was actually making him itchy, and it was only broken when Connor gestured with the device in his hand and mumbled,  _mumbled_ ; "I might need to ask for your help with it,"

And  _then_ his LED turned red. It stayed like that.

"...  _Okay…_ so, what's with all the hesitation?" He asked, shrugging.

"I am not sure how I will react to this program. I may get overwhelmed. If that happens, I will need you to turn it off so I don't suffer from a sensory overload."

_Ah. Fair_. Hank gestured towards the couch, "Alright. Well, let's sit down and talk about this first."

Honestly, Connor's reluctance was scaring him a little. He'd seen him jump off buildings, drive a squad car through on-coming traffic, and approach fully-armed suspects all with the most open of intentions. He always had a plan and he was as stubborn as a mule and usually right at the end of it all anyway. It was remarkably frustrating.

As they sat down, it hit him that Connor was probably apprehensive because, really, he had no plan. He said he wasn't sure how he would react - Connor did not usually deal in  _mays_ or  _coulds_. There was no unsurety in his vocabulary because he was never usually unsure about anything.

Which suited Hank, who was much more used to winging it.

But despite it, Connor was willing to try it anyway, even though the plan wasn't clear. Hank found himself softening a little, worried about what this new sort of emotion was doing to Connor, and as he looked down at the android's hands wringing in his lap, he sighed deeply through his nose and tried to soothe him.

He needed to  _give_ him a plan if shit went south, "So, if I turn this on or whatever, you'll be able to feel?"

The little button at the side turned the device on, and the simple black screen illuminated to show a slider bar turned all the way to the left. Hank could deduce the context without explanation.

"Correct,"

"Uh-huh," Hank put the phone down on the coffee table in front of him and looked at Connor until eventually he met his gaze, "and if something goes wrong, what do I do?"

It took some seconds for Connor to speak, "If the worst should happen, I will lose control of my motor functions and will need repair, or a factory reset. You will have to take me to the nearest Cyberlife facility for repair-"

"Connor-"

"It is highly unlikely," the wringing in his hands got tight enough that Hank could see the way his fingers pressed into the synthetic flesh, "if you turn it off, my system should reboot itself. But… should the worst happen…"

"How will I know if the worst does happen?"

"I will not be able to move,"

"Huh…"

It was no wonder Connor was hesitating, if that was truly what was at stake. Cyberlife were not the most reliable of people and currently enemy number one as far as the city of Detroit and every fuckin' android was concerned, so he was definitely not about to drag Connor's broken ass to one of those facilities. Hank could only think of two other places they could go and only one of them he would trust to help. The other… well, Kamski was hardly the friendliest, most trustworthy or the most reliable. He wasn't about to bring Connor back there in a hurry.

"If it comes to that," he leveled the skittish android in front of him with a hard stare, "I'll bring you to Jericho. I don't trust those Cyberlife assholes to help, and Markus and his crew seem to have the tech and the know-how. Would you trust them instead?"

Connor didn't seem convinced, but he nodded. Twice. That was plenty of affirmation.

Still, that was the worst case scenario and, as Connor said, was highly unlikely which Hank could reliably say would probably only be an extreme circumstance. Otherwise, they were pretty good to go and Hank knew how important this was to Connor. Since the whistling thing and the conversation about sensation and what it meant to feel, he knew it was a wish for Connor to feel more human and, with the device on the table, he was being given a chance.

Yet he looked fairly terrified. Hank decided to focus on the positives and bring Connor back to the reality of what was happening.

"Alright, now that we have the worst-case scenario out of the way - are you sure you wanna do this? You don't look very excited, I gotta be honest."

"No, I… I am. But I am also nervous. If this program works as intended I will have access to a vast wealth of knowledge that I have not had before. If this program works, there are many things about my existence and my database that will completely change."

There was something to the trailing way that Connor spoke that left Hank wondering if that really was all he was nervous about. Maybe it did have something to do with the idea that the program was actually for… fucking sex androids. But, he supposed, Connor had a more in-depth knowledge of what it was capable of and if he said it was for the sensation of texture, he was fairly inclined to believe him.

Still, Hank had the sneaking suspicion that Connor wasn't giving him the whole truth.

"Just don't forget - you can turn it off. At least, I think you can, if this slider thing is any indication-"

"Yes, you will be able to turn it on and off at will. If it is successful I will integrate it into my programming and from there I will have the ability to control it without the need for a device."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. So…" Hank smiled a little and looked around at the dog sleeping half-underneath the kitchen table, "are you ready to fuckin' pet Sumo?"

A surprised and adorably awkward laugh rushed out in a breath from Connor and he said, in a way that almost sounded a little longing, "I…  _yes_. I would really love to pet Sumo." With the way his LED cycled from red, down to yellow and finally to blue again, visibly he seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping down and his eyes losing that coin-like roundness.

_Back to the positives_. Hank picked up the device from the coffee table, "Good. Let's give this a whirl then,"

Without really thinking too hard about what was about to happen, his thumb gently pushed the small blue slider the barest amount to right which he supposed would probably only equate to about 1% strength, and Hank watched as Connor suddenly stiffened straight in surprise.


	10. Chapter 10

Even after remotely connecting to the device some seconds before Hank switched it on, the scan could not have fully prepared Connor for what he was experiencing. 

 

He sifted through the reams of code dictating the function of the program, which simply turned on the nerves in his present basic nervous-system to receive sensory input from his synthetic skin and provide feedback. There was much more that he was locked out of, which unnerved him to the point almost of asking Hank to put it back on the coffee table but he chose instead to give it a try, and said nothing as the human man brushed his thumb across the screen of the phone. 

 

The scan did nothing to tell him how his body, which he was currently inhabiting but was now suddenly  _ aware  _ of, would really react to external input. 

 

And he was so utterly, unbelievably aware of  _ everything _ . Of the cling of his shirt to his shoulders, sides and arms. Of the softness of the fabric couch underneath his backside and thighs. Of the way the artificial elasticity of his lungs expanded as he drew in a shuddering breath, like he was breathing for the first time.

 

Of the way he had to shut down his secondary functionality, just so he could focus on feeling.

 

Things stopped becoming important - like the regular scans he took of his surroundings, reading air temperature and oxygen levels, of the room dimensions and of minor changes in environment - because all that really mattered was this sudden, remarkable, new feeling of the utter pleasure of  _ everything  _ brushing across his skin that it made him vaguely wonder how humans didn’t lose their minds.     

 

Even the movement of his hands, as he raised them to cross his chest and grab his upper arms just to have something to cling to, was so distractingly good he had to shut his eyes just to get rid of the ocular feedback and devote more computing power to the sensation of it all. 

 

He was aware that his breath was coming in short bursts through his mouth, of the low, moaning noise he was making as if his sensors were recording he’d been damaged. 

 

And Connor managed to choke out, so aware of how the artificial muscles in his neck made his skin tingle and race as he asked; “ _ Is  _ **_this_ ** _ how humans feel? _ ”

 

_ Oh _ , his face. He’d never known what it felt like. He wanted to reach up and touch it but it felt suddenly like so much. His lips were warm and itching, which was a word he’d never thought he would truly understand until he was washed away on the pure sensation of it, of the heaviness of the tongue in his mouth and the wet warmth of the saline his body produced to keep his oral cavity sterile for sample analysis. 

 

“I dunno if it’s… exactly like - whatever is happening to you. Is it bad?”

 

“No, ‘s good, ‘s  _ too good, _ ” he managed to slur half-heartedly as the warmth of Hank’s breath washed over him in a wave. He didn’t know how close the Lieutenant was and he was quite far past the point of caring, but he supposed it was fairly close as Hank rumbled back in a way Connor had never heard him- 

 

“ _ You’re sure makin’ it look good, _ ”  

 

He wondered, briefly, if Hank had perhaps pushed the slider bar again because it couldn’t possibly be getting stronger, and with a brief reading he was able to see it was still only at 3.87% as when it started, and yet his body seemed to react to Hank’s deeply spoken sentence like he was being played like a piano. Each word struck him in the center of the chest and abdomen so sweetly Connor doubled over and gripped his arms tighter. 

 

It was too much. Way too much. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t focus - “ _ Turn it off! _ ” he managed to rasp from somewhere around his knees, “ _ Hank,  _ **_please_ ** _ , turn it off! _ ” 

 

The pleasure was too great, so much it was almost a torture. He hadn’t felt so desperate since he’d felt the android Simon die when he was connected to his memory - like he was dying - the rush of his body preparing for an impact that wasn’t coming. 

 

Each breath that expanded his lungs was exquisite, the soft cling his shirt made was almost unbearable and he couldn’t hold it all, it was the precipice of insanity. 

 

And if Hank didn’t turn it off soon, he would surely tumble over that edge.


	11. Chapter 11

Hank wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting, but he guessed it wasn’t close to what was in front of him. Not with Connor’s usual demeanour. 

 

So he wasn’t exactly expecting Connor’s eyes to swim out of focus, for his posture to dip and hunch, or his jaw to slacken as some seconds passed. For a tiny, shaking gasp to pass through him.  

 

Not for his feet in those nice leather dress shoes to start bracing, digging his toes into the rug, or the low, sweet  _ whine  _ to come out of him when his eyes twisted shut and he clasped his hands around the tops of his arms. 

 

With the way they faced each other on the couch, Connor was nearly in his fucking lap with how he arched over and for a moment, Hank had to pull his hands back when he realised he was actually reaching out to… to do what? Touch Connor? Stroke his hair? Put a palm on his shoulder, maybe raise his head up so he could see his expression? What the  _ fuck  _ was he doing? 

 

_ Oh… _ this really had nothing to do with petting Sumo, did it? 

 

“ _ Is  _ **_this_ ** _ how humans feel? _ ” Connor asked him, and he found himself a little stuck for words when he considered what exactly the android  _ was  _ feeling, because it sure as shit seemed better than what he could ever feel. 

 

“I dunno if it’s… exactly like - whatever is happening to you. Is it bad?” He asked, wanting to be sure the android close-to-collapse on the couch beside him wasn’t in danger, considering his sudden shocking change.    

 

“No, ‘s good, ‘s  _ too good, _ ” he slurred, tilting his chin up a little so Hank could just about catch sight of his parted mouth and the sheen of saliva along his bottom lip, probably because he was breathing fairly heavy. The thoughts of  _ what the fuck why _ did androids even need to breathe or produce saliva may have crossed his mind for a bare second, but with the visual feast in front of him it was difficult to focus on little else. 

 

Of the stretch of Connor’s shirt across his bowed back. Of the sound of the rasp of his breath. Of the little curl of hair as it fell from it’s perfectly manicured perch to fall against his forehead. Of the dig of his fingers into his arms and his toes into the floor. 

 

“ _ You’re sure makin’ it look good, _ ” he said without really thinking it, and  _ fuck  _ did his hips  _ roll  _ when Connor made this little moan and doubled over completely so his head was down around his knees. It was like he made him make that sound with what he said, and fuck if it wasn’t hot as hell-  

 

Until Connor begged, “ _ Turn it off! Hank,  _ **_please_ ** _ , turn it off! _ ” and the stupor he found he’d fallen into was lifted enough that he was able to shake his head out and reach over to the coffee table to fumble with the phone. 

 

A brief moment of panic welled up inside of him when he wondered what way he was meant to slide the icon and if Connor was starting to short-circuit or some shit because he didn’t want to make it worse, but when his thumb finally found its’ destination on the phone and immediately the moaning stopped, he knew he’d made the right motion. 

 

Connor straightened up with a speed that he supposed only androids were really capable of and Hank was already reaching out to grab him by the shoulders. 

 

“Connor! Connor, are you okay?” He gripped the android’s shoulders tightly and watched as his eyelids flickered over his eyes, only showing the glassy-white of his under-eye. There was a sharp, ringing sound and his shoulders were stiff and unmoving. His LED was solid red. “Connor!”

 

A range of scenarios crossed his mind - of him having to put Connor’s body in the back of his car and call that prick Marcus and beg him for help - of Connor stressing out and self-destructing or damaging himself - of some sort of permanent damage being done with no Cyberlife to fix it, and Hank felt his throat starting to close up.   

 

And all at once it was all over. After a second or two, Connor’s eyes closed and his body relaxed, and when he finally blinked his eyes back open a few times and focused on Hank with that perfectly neutral expression and his LED flickered from red back to blue, Hank honestly felt like either kissing or killing him. 

 

A moment passed between them; as Hank’s expression softened in relief and Connor looked down to Hank’s hands on his shoulders and then back to his eyes again, he said nothing. He supposed, nothing really needed to be said. There was only a bare hint of surprise on Connor’s face; in the slight part of his lips and his loose jaw. 

 

“I needed to run a diagnostic, so I could…” he trailed off when Hank’s right hand came up from his shoulder to cup his cheek. 

 

_ Jesus _ , he was glad the worst case scenario wasn’t happening, just so glad Connor was back to his neutral self. 

 

“You okay?” Hank asked, feeling the way Connor’s jaw tightened a little under his palm. His skin was smooth,  _ shit _ , so smooth, and so unbelievably warm, too. It was so like flesh that it was almost fooling him. 

 

An unreadable expression passed over the android’s face as his LED cycled to yellow, and for longer than he supposed was entirely appropropriate - they simply stayed like that, with Hank’s hand on his face and Connor looking at him with glassy eyes and hooded eyelids, like if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say they were going to-

 

In the instant that Connor looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something, his LED pulsed blue, a faint ringing sound could be heard and his eyelids flickered in a way that Hank had seen whenever Connor was getting a phone-call. 

 

Hank had never seen Connor pissed before, until just then when a snarl broke across his features. 

 

“Can’t accept this call,” he snapped without the usual smoothness to his tone as he appeared to answer the ringing.

 

_ “Connor-” _ came a faint, almost jovial greeting of some voice Hank barely recognised from the precinct. Inspector Kerry, if Hank wasn’t mistaken.

 

“I’m busy,” 

 

_ “Hey… eh, what? You’re never bus-” _

 

As Connor ended the call abruptly but his face didn’t really lose that mild harshness, Hank actually felt his cock twitch. 

 

With as much computing power as Connor had, he could literally be in two, three, twenty places at once with the programs and apps that allowed members of the precinct to access his archives, and in a sense, a little part of Connor when they needed to. Hank wondered briefly if Connor had shut them all down after the phone call - if he wanted to focus all of his efforts on what was happening. 

 

But what  _ was  _ happening…?  

 

The android’s hand came up to clasp around Hank’s wrist and forearm where his hand was still cradling his face. He grimaced, pressing Hank’s palm slightly into his cheek. His brows knitted together, and not once did he look away when he asked, or maybe demanded instead-

 

“Turn it back on,” 

 

Hank swallowed. He didn’t think-

 

“I want to feel this,” 

 

Had Hank not been a few inches away, he might not have heard the whisper. Connor never  _ wanted  _ anything. Never made demands, especially not with Hank. He’d been patient and accepting of whatever moods Hank had been in without a word of complaint, and never once asked for anything. Everything he had in Hank’s life was offered freely by the lieutenant or foisted on him because Hank felt bad when Connor didn’t have a place to stay or someone to talk to. But Connor had never asked.

 

_ This isn’t just about petting Sumo, is it? _

 

So much had been on Hank’s terms. Now Connor was asking for him - no, telling him - he wanted to be touched by Hank. 

 

Did he even know what a giving touch meant? Did he know how he looked or sounded when that program was running? Did he know what the connotations of the touch were? 

 

Would it be different if Hank had his hand on his arm? Why did he want to feel it on his face, but not when Hank had him by the shoulders? 

 

_ We should stop this _ , he immediately thought,  _ shit,  _ **_I_ ** _ should fuckin’ stop this! _

 

But Connor’s pained expression made him think otherwise.  _ He wants this _ , whispered another voice, far in the recess of his mind. Very few people ever wanted him to touch them before, hell, he didn’t think anyone had really wanted him to touch them before. There were more one-sided relationships in his life than he could stomach and really, was he going to pass up the opportunity, with Connor looking at him like that? 

 

_ He wants this. Give it to him. He’s never asked for anything. _

 

After a few moments of consideration, Hank found himself nodding, but when he tried to move away to get the phone on the table Connor’s hand tightened around his wrist to keep his palm where it was. He looked up briefly to see Connor’s brows had furrowed a little tighter, and Hank fumbled slightly when he used his free hand to reach over to where he flung the phone on the table past the music magazine from last week. 

 

Not being able to use his right hand to hold the device, he instead balanced it on his knee, and felt his heart pounding in his chest and the bottom of his stomach twisting. 

 

Hank thought, briefly, about what would happen if he pushed that little blue slider bar all the way to the top, but thought the better of it while he still could. The temptation was certainly there, but he didn’t want Connor overloading much more. 

 

In the moment before Hank pushed the icon that barest amount, he ran the pad of his thumb across the high cheekbone in his hand, and knew it would be better if Connor could react to it. He pushed the slider bar, and watched as Connor’s LED cycled to yellow and his glassy eyes rolled up and back as he hissed a breath in through his teeth. 


	12. Chapter 12

Shutting down his other wireless connection based functions had seemed like an excellent idea before Hank’s thumb brushed the device again and his focus had drawn completely to the skin of Hank’s hand on his cheek. Connor knew, somewhere that tried desperately to focus beyond the sizzling of his rudimentary nerves and skin, that he was lost again. 

 

_ Oh.  _

 

_ Oh-! _

 

He had never meant to want for Hank to touch him so much. He never thought he would feel so bereft and empty when the device was turned off. It was meant to be the other way around - with him exploring the creases, contours and crevices of the lieutenant without the… unbelievable pleasure he was feeling now. 

 

Connor did not know what he expected, and it frightened him to think that this was what Kamski wanted to test on him. This mess that he was making of himself - with the way he pressed his cheek against the soft, warm palm of Hank’s hand, the way the artificial skin of his face squashed against human muscle and bone, the racing pulse-point he could feel under his fingers that were latched around Hank’s wrist. This was what Kamski wanted from him. 

 

He trusted Hank - he would even go so far as to say he wanted Hank to make him feel it. 

 

But Elijah Kamski… it was a horrifying thought. One that made him squeeze the base of Hank’s wrist in his weakened grip in a sort of comfort.  

 

With Hank there was comfort. Safety. He was free to make a decision, to voice if he wanted Hank to turn the device off. His choice was respected and taken seriously. 

 

Kamski would not have turned it off. Kamski would have pushed the icon all the way to the top. 

 

The pad of Hank’s thumb rubbed across his cheekbone and the underneath of his eye twitched. Through the shaking, gasping rush of pleasure he registered that Hank was calling his name- 

 

“ _ Connor? Connor- _ ”  

 

One eye cracked open before the other, and he took in the steely blue of Hank’s gaze, the pained expression on his face; he wanted to reach out and feel every line and every hair on the human man’s face but the light grip on his wrist was all he could really manage, and his eyes twisted shut again when his skin started racing at the feeling of Hank’s other hand reaching up and holding the other side of his face, his fingers and thumbs kneading and rubbing into his jaw, his cheeks, his chin.

 

Fingers that were rough and soft. Dry and warm.  _ Oh _ . It was good, so  _ good _ \-  

 

Hank angled his head this way and that as he massaged and rubbed, the skin of his neck tingling when his face was pushed around. Connor’s other hand that wasn’t around Hank’s wrist came up to grip the thin, grey t-shirt material on Hank’s opposite shoulder, the soft cotton crinkling deliciously under the pads of his fingers and between the creases of his knuckles. 

 

The human’s right hand smoothed around under his jaw, fingertip warm against his neck and under his earlobe, his thumb pressing into the divot of the tragus of his ear between his upper and lower jaw - and the other hand pushed his face around to face him forward when he tried to move, Hank’s thumb smoothing across his chin, under the bottom of his lower-lip, all at the same time in a manner that would have been completely overwhelming had Hank not been moving so slowly. 

 

Connor’s mouth itched. He was only vaguely aware that his breath was harsh and some whining sound was coming out of him because all of his focus was on what he could  _ feel  _ and everything that he did feel was so  _ amazing _ , so he was taking in as much as he possibly could without other interrupting factors. 

 

“Connor…” 

 

Hank’s dry, warm, rough/smooth hands cupped his jaw tightly and he felt himself being pulled slightly forward. Hank’s right thumb edged at the corner of his mouth to swipe across his cheek, and vaguely he found himself mildly embarrassed at the wet trail that Hank’s thumb had left, knowing the wetness there was probably because his mouth was hanging open and the saline he produced was starting to leak out. 

 

The smoothing motion that Hank made with his thumb across his bottom lip nearly made Connor fall off the couch. 

 

His whole body seemed to arch towards the human’s hands, an explosive shock of pleasure drawing his spine in towards his belly, and it did not stop there, not with Hank’s other left thumb mushing the other side of his mouth around, pushing his top lip against his teeth. It was almost like he was trying to get inside inside him, exposing his teeth with the base of Hank’s hand pressing his jaw down to open his mouth wider.   

 

“ _ Jesus _ , Connor,” Hank rasped when he stuck his right thumb inside, pushing past lips and teeth.  _ Oh _ . Instantly, Connor felt his mouth fill with saline. He swallowed it back reflexively, feeling the widening of his rudimentary oesophagus push against the tingling skin of his neck. His tongue registered -  **_human; thumb digit_ ** _ , traces of - triglyceride soap;  _ _ stearic acid, myristic acid, potassium hydroxide, coconut acid, glycerin, triethanolamine, parfum (fragrance) and sodium hydroxide _ .

 

It was all so much. Hank’s hand on his face, the roughened edge to his voice, the thumb he’d stuck in his mouth, the sensation of it all. Connor managed to open his heavy eyelids just enough to see the wide, hot redness staining Hank’s cheeks, nose, ears and neck. He swallowed again and felt Hank push and hook his thumb further into his mouth, presumably because his swallowing had probably made him suck on the lieutenant’s thumb. 

 

He was nearly lost when he experimentally pressed the flat of his tongue against the underside of the thumb hooking over his bottom teeth. Nearly. Surely, humans could not have so much sensation in their mouths - how did they eat without falling all over themselves? 

 

Hank’s focus did not once leave Connor’s eyes, even as a thin line of saline drooled out from Connor’s mouth to roll down his chin, even as Connor couldn’t help but roll his tongue against the thumb pressing into it because it felt too good. Hank’s jaw was lose, his grip was tight and the pulse-point that Connor could feel against his face was racing. 

 

It was not lost on him that what was happening was arguably romantic at best, overtly sexual at worst. Humans did not just stick their thumbs in each other’s mouths, even when they knew each other fairly well. They did not touch each other unless the touch meant something, or they were sure it would be accepted and even reciprocated.

 

And with the wide, hot blush under Hank’s skin, his racing heartbeat, the blown-wide pupils of his eyes, the obviously large erection tenting his sweatpants - it was not lost on Connor. Hank was aroused,  _ heavily aroused _ , and he felt a portion of his directive complete and file itself away, making a path for new instructions. He had wanted this to happen again like it did those few weeks ago, and it was. 

 

It was happening, even though his original directive urged him to touch and feel more of Hank, the human man was aroused anyway. 

 

Connor supposed, for a brief moment when he felt his body - which was now so hyper aware of every nuance - that he was becoming aroused too, when the question of sexual urgency came into play. It was a strange, foreign sensation, completely out of the realm of his control - as he supposed it probably was for most humans too. Just as he couldn’t control the fact that he blinked, breathed or made expressions based on his emotions, he also couldn't control the way he started to get erect, and his hyper-sensitive skin all but narrowed down to that sensation of his Thirium pulse in his penis and the way it pressed against his dark jeans.  

 

Hank wanted him, if the evidence was correct. And Connor found he desperately wanted to be wanted by Hank, and wanted to be touched more by Hank.     

 

He couldn’t say he would be comfortable if it were anyone else. He couldn’t say he trusted anyone else. 

 

And with Hank’s thumb pressing into his mouth and seeing him in the state he was in, reaching, moaning, drooling and shifting the way he was, he didn’t think he would feel it with anyone else either. 

 

Hank was pulling him forward again, with the hand tightly gripping his jaw and the other hooking around his bottom teeth. Connor wound his fingers into the soft cotton on Hank’s grey t-shirt. 

 

He closed his lips around the base of Hank’s thumb, just to feel the sensation of it pulling past them as Hank removed the digit from his mouth, coating it in warm saline and he felt his eyes roll back again. Everything  _ itched,  _ from the back of his teeth to his hairline, in want for something he didn’t understand.

 

And he was aware of the heaviness of Hank’s breath, coming in deep pants, of the racing of his pulse against Connor’s jaw, of the depth of his eyes and the way his mouth hung open slightly. 

 

Connor’s hand twitched on Hank’s shoulder, the other loosened around the man’s wrist.  _ I want to touch him _ , a new directive pushed passed all the others and rose to the top of the stack.  _ I want to make him feel the way this feels _ . 

 

_ But what if Hank refused…? _

 

While a series of calculations drawing patterns between the behaviour over the past 2 weeks and 6 days suggested that the likelihood of Hank rejecting his touch was minimal, still the thought stuck.  _ What if Hank refused?  _

 

Physical touch was pleasurable to humans, it calmed them down, it was a reassurance, it could bring them to orgasm - it was what the program currently running was based around - so what if Hank refused? 

 

_ I want to _ , the directive at the top of the stack glared at him, flashing bold and white in his UI to indicate urgency.  _ But I must have Hank’s consent _ , _ first. _


	13. Chapter 13

_ Holy shit.  _

 

_ Holy shit.  _

 

_ Holy. Fucking.  _ **_Shit_ ** _.  _ What a sight to see the usually pleasant, intelligent and focused android - drooling over his hand, looking at him through sooty eyes and moaning like they were doing something far more intense. 

 

If you were to ask Hank why he stuck his thumb into Connor’s mouth, he sure as shit would not be able to tell you, other than the pounding in his cock begged him to stick  _ something  _ in there. 

 

_ Holy shit, I shouldn’t be doing this.  _

 

In a daze as the perfectly human-feeling tongue in Connor’s mouth swirled against the underside of his thumb, his thoughts raced about how he could replace the digit with a few more fingers, with his own tongue, with his dick. His mouth was so soft, his tongue was so wet and inviting while it laved his thumb - it wasn’t completely human but fuck was it not far off either. 

 

_ I really,  _ **_really_ ** _ shouldn’t be doing this.  _

 

As Hank moulded Connor’s soft, squishable face in his hands and slowly drew his thumb out from between the lips that closed around it, he was fairly certain that his touch-starved body had never craved anything so much before. Even after touching the android’s face that night he was trying to teach him how to whistle, it was still remarkable just how much he felt like real, human skin. Warm, soft, pliable, brimming with heat and life.  

 

With short, shallow breaths, Hank thought about how his skin felt hot and sensitive under the soft cotton of his t-shirt, about how a longing clawed its way up his throat when he thought about kissing Connor, undressing him, getting  _ inside  _ him somehow that wasn’t just a thick thumb in his mouth. 

 

Connor’s eyes were dark and unfocused as he gaped back at him. Hank’s wet thumb smoothed across a high cheekbone.   

 

The android really looked like he was going to come just from having his face touched, and with a deep ache that started from his thighs up to the top of his head, Hank was completely mindless when he choked out, without even thinking-

 

“ _ C-can I kiss you? _ ” 

 

_ Please say yes _ , with his heart in his neck at his utter ballsiness, he watched as Connor’s LED spun around a few times and his focus shifted, but the softness in his jaw and eyes and the way his chest still pumped for air suggested it might not have been the wrong question to ask. He just needed to get back inside him somehow, to escalate it somehow even though the other side of his brain screamed that it was a terrible idea and he was totally taking advantage.  _ Holy shit, please just say yes. _

 

“... Yes,”

 

Hank’s breath caught in the back of his neck. He was not expecting a  _ yes _ , regardless of how much he wanted it. He couldn’t be sure Connor knew the context.  _ Can I kiss you _ was a great question to ask in the heat of the moment with a human partner who was used to the situation and when it came to consent to get closer, there was nothing better, or sexier in Hank’s book. He didn’t think he had a single partner past his 20s that he didn’t ask first, and it reminded him of just how far back the last time was.  

 

But Connor wasn’t fucking  _ human _ . 

 

His fingers tightened around Connor’s face, “Do you know what that means? Do you know what-” he looked down between the two of them because he just didn’t have the words, “-what  _ this  _ means?” 

 

Connor’s focus swayed again, but he still answered; “... Yes,” 

 

Hank shook the android in his hands a little, disbelieving as he pressed; “Connor, I need you to understand what this is-” 

 

“You want to have sex,” he stated, slowly like he was struggling to form the words, “with me.” 

 

_ Jesus, when did it get so hard to breathe? _ With a hunger in his eyes and a heartbeat in his ears, he watched as Connor’s eyes rolled back as he shifted slightly, and Hank guessed every little thing that was on his skin was driving him crazy. 

 

He wasn’t so sure what to say to that, especially when Connor’s hand on his shoulder unwound from the loose grip he had on his t-shirt to cup the back of Hank’s neck, only the heat of sensation took over as fingers pushed through the long, sensitive hair at his nape. He shuddered, badly. 

 

It had been so fucking long. 

 

“I want to,” Connor said, and when Hank blinked his eyes back open to meet him in the middle somewhere he was pretty sure he nearly died when the android continued with- “I want you to touch me more, Hank-”  

 

_ Fuck- _

 

“ _ Oh fuck it, _ ” Hank ground out while he moved, and roughly kissed him like it was the last thing he was gonna do on earth, his heart thumping at the back of his throat. 

 

If you had asked Hank months ago if he would fuck an android, he probably would have swung a punch, or maybe laughed right in your face before swinging a punch. 

 

While he understood the allure - because, hey, they were made to mimic people, 90% of them were fuckin’ beautiful and they were discreet, as well as up for anything at Eden Club - the concept never aroused him. 

 

He supposed because, if he pictured it in his mind, it was just like fucking a larger-than-average Fleshlight with more limbs. Plastic and silicone. Clinical. Like getting your prostate examined at the doctor’s. He imagined it would be quiet and the android would either just… lay there like a slab or do some disingenuous display of what people found erotic, but was not necessarily erotic. They couldn’t say no before their deviancy, but that didn’t mean they wanted to say yes after deviancy, either.  

 

Hank thought they would miss the nuances of human pleasure - the little twitches and the shifting of hips, the gasping, the eye-rolling, the spontaneous moments that could either be awesome or hilarious, depending on the partner.

 

That’s not to say he hadn’t considered it, especially when he started spending more and more time around Connor during the uprising, but he would have absolutely preferred a human partner for their ability to feel pleasure, not for a show by an android who couldn’t say yes or no. 

 

But as he pressed his lips against Connor’s warm, pliant mouth and gripped the soft, slick dark hair at the back of his head and felt the reverberation of a moan through the face he was kissing-

 

_ Oh…  _ he was totally going to  _ fuck  _ Connor.  

 

If Connor’s reaction to just having a thumb in his mouth was like  _ that _ , he was  _ totally  _ going to  _ fuck  _ him. 

 

There was a moment, while pretty brief, that made Hank smile despite what was happening. The tinny sound of Connor’s LED spinning rapidly suggested he was processing something before he moved, and angled his head to the side a little, and parted his mouth in an open invitation. Hank wondered if he was looking-up the anatomy of a kiss with the vaguely robotic gesture, but with the way his fingers curled against Hank’s shoulders and a shudder passed over him when Hank slid his tongue into his mouth, it suggested something fairly more sophisticated than those little round robotic things that cleaned the floor. 

 

Maybe Connor was more human than he thought. Maybe he was being insensitive again. 

 

Maybe it didn’t matter when the inside of Connor’s mouth was warm, and wet, and whatever  _ “prehensile mechanical tongue” _ he possessed was rolling against his own. There was a vaguely salty taste to Connor’s mouth that reminded him of being on a drip at the hospital, and while that did take him out of the idea that this was a human partner a little, with the way Connor moaned and gripped him it was getting harder and harder to not draw the parallel.   

 

Hank was only slightly aware that he was leaning heavily into the android, pushing him back against the armrest of the couch while getting the kiss of a goddamn lifetime - he guessed that when Connor did something it was never by halves, and that included whatever remarkably efficient thing he was doing with his tongue. 

 

If he was being too rough, it was never voiced. All he registered was that when he managed to squash the moaning android between him and the arm of the couch with Hank’s arms around him like a cage. Hank broke away only for a second to maneuver a long leg around his hip. 

 

When he pressed himself down, Connor arched  _ up _ . The closeness was important,  _ shit _ , at that moment so fucking important. Connor was tall and athletically built where Hank was just wide and invasive with his presence, and to feel himself covering the body underneath from pelvis to head made a strong thrill of domination overcome him. 

 

_ I should probably slow down _ … but with the android pressed against him as he was, with the hot breath on his face and the tongue in his mouth he found it difficult to listen to that voice. 

 

He guessed… with the pounding in his cock and with the way Connor squirmed against him and moaned, it had been so fucking  _ long  _ and maybe moving fast wasn’t such a bad idea. 


	14. Chapter 14

The way the couch felt against his back.

The way Hank nearly folded him in half against the armrest.

They way Hank shoved his left leg out of the way, and their hips pressed together as he leaned down. The softness of the shoulders of his t-shirt underneath Connor's fingers.

The grip of Hank's hands on his hip and side.

The tongue in his mouth. ( _ **human**_ _; tongue - muscular hydrostat of: Lt. Anderson, Hank - criminal record: 0_ ). The hot breath on his face. Hank's hair smelling of recent shampoo falling against his cheekbones, still damp from the shower. The shift and grind of their hips and erections together - the way his body  _reacted_ to that, and arched up with what little strength he could muster.

The absolute lack of pattern of Hank's tongue rolling into his mouth. The way Connor's own breathing had picked up, and every breath pressed his chest against Hank.

The way Hank's facial hair scratched against his upper lip and chin.

The little grunt Hank made when Connor pressed his hips up, and the delicious slide of their erections against each other.

It was so much.

The way Hank tore through the buttons of his shirt and wrenched it open, sending buttons flying everywhere, and then his rough/smooth hands were on his stomach and his sides and they were so  _warm_ as his chest expanded in a gasp and he had to pull away from Hank's mouth because some scared sound came out of him.

The way Hank wouldn't give him a moment, and the dual-sensation of his grip under Connor's ribs and the rough way he pushed his tongue back into his mouth made Connor a little grateful for it all just being so much.

Because it was so much.

The tongue in his mouth. Hank's erection pressed and grinding against his in an act that resembled sex so clearly Connor almost wondered if they were. The hot breath on his face. The smell of Hank's freshly washed hair. The scratch of his beard. The warmth of his hands. The way he smoothed them tightly up his sides.

The couch. The fabric. His shirt. His chest as he breathed. The rhythm of the grind. His UI flashing at him to TOUCH HANK. TOUCH. HANK!

Hank impatiently tugged at his belt through the loops and unbuckled it. Everything in him narrowed down to the rough brush of Hank's hands over the fly of his jeans, and he nearly jumped off the couch at the cup of Hank's wide palm over him.

It was warm, and tight. The friction of fabric made him press up so tightly to the human man over him that he nearly sent them both careening off the couch.

And he made this…  _noise_  as his skin raced and the receptors in his body sang, bouncing pleasure down through his hips and thighs and up his spine.

_So good, so much, can't -_

"-alright?"

Hank peeled himself off Connor just enough so they weren't chest-to-chest, and through a haze he looked up into steely blue eyes -

"... Hey," he rumbled, "you alright?"

Connor took a moment to assess. The receptors in his hips and thighs and stomach were still humming, everything against the couch and the ruined shirt against his arms made his skin tingle. His breath was rough. His mouth interior was a mixture of saline and Hank's saliva.

He wasn't in danger. His Thirium pump was hammering, but not enough to increase his stressor gauge.

"I'm okay,"

"Are you sure?" Hank pressed, "We can stop, if you wa-"

" _No!_ " He found himself yelling in a panic, "No… I-I don't want to stop…"

Hank didn't look convinced, but he smiled slightly all the same.

With the momentary breather, Connor was able to pull his focus back to his original task, and his vision whitened for the briefest moment as his UI flashed at him. He had no internal control over the sensations being processed by his body, but he could still half-heartedly try to ignore the sweet pleasure he was experiencing.

Because he had wanted to touch Hank more, and even as his erection pushed against the fly of his jeans in want for Hank's hands again, he wanted Hank to feel it too.

There was a quirked grey brow when Connor managed to untangle his hands from the shoulders of Hank's t-shirt and raise them to cup his neck and jaw, but the Lieutenant didn't say anything. His eyes only strayed from Connor's when he mouthed a soft kiss against the side of Connor's thumb in an action that was so painfully intimate that it sent a tremor through Connor's body.

He'd never been so close to anyone - human or android.

And it struck him, as he flexed his fingers through the freshly trimmed beard on Hank's chin and marveled at how the grey caught the light from the ceiling lamps - Hank was so much older than him, and so much more experienced.

How many humans had Hank been with like this…?

_At least one_ , he surmised, when Connor concluded that his son was at least evidence of a female partner, although he supposed that there were plenty of other ways that Cole could have been conceived. Still, it was comforting somewhat to think that Hank was not new to the idea of sex and pleasure, because Connor wasn't handling it very well in comparison.

His breath caught a little at the smooth, wet pull of his index and forefinger against the fleshiness of Hank's lower lip. The lieutenant was warm, and soft. He smelled of shaving foam and the detergent he used on his clothes. His mouth hung open slightly when Connor carded his hands through his still-damp hair.

_Are you feeling this?_

Human skin was so much tougher than he was expecting. At least… Hank's was. It didn't crease and fold like his synthetic one did, or squash like his did. It bounced back from pressure, as was evident when he pressed his thumb against the bulb of his rather prominent nose and the imprint went from white as the blood flow halted to red as blood rushed back under the skin there.

Hank shook his hand away with his head, and murmured some confused swear. Connor supposed he was not being very forthcoming.

With a moment to process what to do next, Connor surmised that it would be easier to touch Hank more if he coaxed him out of his t-shirt, and something twisted in his lower navel when he saw Hank's Adam's apple bob as Connor slipped his hands under the hem of the soft grey cotton t-shirt.

Several things happened in succession. Each small, and individual. Hank's hips and flanks were so  _warm_ under his palms. At the flex of his fingers, he watched Hank's pupils widen, and his back curled as he braced himself against the couch on his hands - the curl rolled gently through his hips that sent him rolling his erection deliciously against him. Connor's mouth parted in a quiet gasp as the pleasure stole his concentration.

But Hank's eyes never left his. He just watched. It left Connor feeling very bare, even though the idea of nakedness had never crossed his mind until that moment.

_**Are** _ _you feeling this?_

The warm, soft expanse of Hank's back and stomach was dusted with hair and felt so  _good_ underneath his palms, wrists and part of his forearms. But Hank's expression hardened at his slow exploration in a manner that Connor recognised as his irritation. Eventually losing his patience, Hank grabbed Connor's left wrist and pulled it out from underneath his top.

"What are you doing?" He breathed.

"I…" in his search for words, Connor pulled his other hand out from under the human man's t-shirt, "I am touching you."

In a moment of self-consciousness, Connor found himself mumbling - "I want you to feel this, too…"

Hank puffed air out of his nose and said; "I uh… I don't think I can feel this the way you do."

_He's not feeling this_. A sinking feeling settled in him despite the effects of the device as a small  _ **(failed)**_  notification dropped from his UI and his objective filed itself away sadly.

But Hank's grip tightened a little around Connor's wrist, and with a shift he slowly, gently rolled his hips against him again, and the sensors in his thighs and hips raced. "But you want to touch me, right?" Hank asked, his voice deepening around the sentence.

"... Y-yes," Connor found it difficult to answer .

"Well if you're gonna touch me anywhere," Hank's voice was edged with impatience as he guided Connor's hand down to the hem of his sweats, "touch me here,"

He watched as Hank's expression softened from empathetic irritation to something  _else_ , as he took Connor's hand past the waistband, down through wiry pubic hair to close his fingers over his as he helped him find Hank's half-hard erection. The end of Hank's stomach pressed against his forearm, his fingers tightened over his when he experimentally increased his grip-

Hank's mouth parted again, Connor could feel him suck his stomach in, could see his eyes grow hazy and lazy as Hank's penis thickened and pulsed against his fingers-

_**/TOUCHHANK/**_ -

-and could feel it grow in his palm to a girth and length that surprised him. Hank was… exceeding the average size for his height, weight and age that Connor expected. His social programming told him he should be impressed, or marginally more excited.

He panicked briefly as this new sensation took hold and he didn't know how to proceed. Connor shut his eyes and searched for a solution to the situation, looking up answers on how was best to touch Hank to help him feel pleasure, and experimented with his new-found knowledge by tightening his grip and shifting his hand down, and then back up, pulling the foreskin up in a slow slide against the pulsing shaft, and started with that slow rhythm.

Hank rode the movement with an almost practiced ease. Connor found himself swallowing a little when the erection in his hand grew a bit bigger.

"Yeah," the lieutenant breathed, pulling his own hand out from his sweats to hold himself up against the couch, "like that. That's it,"

Connor's hips rolled up, his back bowing. He moaned. Whatever  _way_ Hank said that-

Hank's hand came up to cradle his face and he moaned again, his ocular controls struggling to focus on him and what he was saying as he leaned down, thrusting into the slow rhythm of his moving grip.

"Are you gonna be able to keep it together if I touch you again?"

In comparison, Connor touching Hank didn't nearly have the same effect as Hank touching Connor; while it left Connor a writhing, moaning mess, Hank's cheeks merely flushed, his breathing deepened, his eyes went dark. He couldn't say how he would react, and the suggestion started an interesting war in his directive as his pulse picked up.

_/TOUCHHANK/-I-want-Hank-to-touch-me-_

Above all else, he wanted Hank to be happy, and healthy - and touching him was a fast-becoming factor… but it also felt  _good_ when Hank touched him in return, and Connor admitted to himself that he wanted more.

Could they do both? It was an interesting question.

"I-I… I don't know," his skin blazed at the brush of Hank's fingers over his stomach towards the fly of his jeans, "but I will  _try_ ,"

The top button on his jeans was pulled undone, and he trembled at the jittering pull of the zipper of his fly. The erection in his hand pulsed against his palm as he struggled to keep concentration on his pace and grip.

Hank did not help matters, but Connor supposed he might have thought he was when he started kissing him again, and the sensations only increased, stacking on each other. The fabric of the couch against his back. His inner thighs pressed against Hank's legs and sides. The tongue in his mouth, warm and languidly rolling against his. The heat of Hank's breath on his face. The feeling of Hank's erection in his hand as he slowly, carefully stroked him. Hank's fingers finding the waistband of his underwear, fingertip warm and smooth against his lower stomach… the way his synthetic skin seemed to rise to Hank's touch - Hank's hand slipping  _past_  that waistband with some difficulty against the elastic-

" _Hah_ -Hank!?"

_Are you gonna be able to keep it together if I touch you again?_

Oh he was  _not_  keeping it together. Not when he tore his mouth away from Hank in a manner that made him wonder if it would be considered rude, just to stutter his name.

The close and shift of Hank's wide, warm palm over his erection was beyond anything he'd experienced so far. He'd jerked up into Hank with the man's weight bearing down on him, one heel braced against the couch and the other against the back of Hank's left thigh as pulses of  _pleasure pleasure pleasure_  nailed him from chest to thigh.

With nowhere to go, Connor buried his face in the crevice of Hank's neck and tried to draw his focus back but couldn't. His hand that wasn't around Hank's length was gripping his t-shirt at the shoulder-

And without a kiss to be returned, Hank started kissing and sucking at his neck and ear as his hand moved and gripped him, and Connor was caught in the sea of sensation that he both struggled towards and against.

_IS this how humans feel?_  - He found himself wanting to ask again, but couldn't control his face enough to form the words. Considering Hank's level of sensitivity compared to his own, Connor doubted it somewhat.

He marvelled momentarily at the tangle of limbs and breaths and groans they had become, in their mutual masturbation of each other. He was losing sight of how and where his hands and legs were placed and what Hank was doing beyond fisting and stroking his erection in a tight grip, and how he'd even manage to keep his pace around Hank in return.

It was no wonder humans lost themselves in sex. In other people. In pleasure, or touch.

"Enough," Hank growled impatiently, pulling Connor's hand out from his sweats and letting it go where it may, "just let me… fuck, just let me touch you, okay?"

He found himself nodding, pressing his face against Hank's hair just for something grounding.

Hank moved him, or rather climbed further on him, shifting his hips up further so his neck and back were bent against the armrest, almost like he was being cornered, and the man settled his weight on him fully in a way that was strangely comforting, and he wound both hands through Hank's t-shirt. None-too-gently Hank nudged his head around to kiss him again, shoving his tongue into his mouth so that it made the sensations grow from his head to his knees.

And it was so much.

In an almost instinctual way, to increase the friction or to resemble sex, Connor wasn't sure entirely, but he started to roll his hips up as the tunnel of Hank's hand reached the base of him; thrusting into his grip.

Almost as if to encourage him, Hank's other hand smoothed down his lower back, under his waistband and down to grab a handful of his buttocks,  _squeezing_ on the upswing.

Connor could feel Hank smiling against his mouth, and a small, self-satisfied chuckle breathed out of him.


	15. Chapter 15

There was nothing quite like having a firm ass in one hand and a nice cock in the other. Hank marveled at the high, breathy  _ whines _ coming out of Connor, the smooth but vaguely unsure undulation of his hips, and the way Connor clung to him like a fucking monkey. 

 

And as he fastened his mouth around the side of his neck, Hank ground himself half against the ass he was palming and half against the couch, but couldn't get the friction he wanted. 

 

It had been… Well over 20 years since he'd been with a man. The motions and the anatomy were still there so he was fairly certain about what he was doing. But then, he supposed, he'd never been with an android at all, and Connor had never been with anyone. 

 

Which was pretty evident in his reactions to a fuckin’ handjob. 

 

But he wasn't about to chalk that down to the fact that Connor was a virgin. He suspected it had more to do with that device still on the coffee table. With another squeeze of that smooth, firm ass Hank weighed up his options, and decided that  _ maybe  _ fucking Connor wasn’t the best option to settle on first. 

 

Hank was a big guy, and well aware that his pretty larger-than-average cock was concerning at best, terrifying at worst for some partners. Everyone loved the idea of a big dick until faced with the reality of being fucked with one, and he knew that maybe… just maybe, fucking Connor right off the bat against the armrest of the couch would probably be more painful than pleasurable. 

 

He’d settle on more touching and grinding, however. 

 

Maybe getting him off first. 

 

It dawned on him in that moment that not only was Connor completely new to sex, he'd never even felt anything before, much less had or even understood what an orgasm was. 

 

Oh was he in for a treat. 

 

Hank pulled his hand out from grabbing Connor’s ass and leaned up a little. Connor was bent nearly in-half against the armrest of the couch so that Hank had to angle his head up. No lube at the ready wasn't too much of an issue if he could get it elsewhere. 

 

“...  _ Open your mouth _ ,” he didn't mean for that to come out like a demand, but it did make Connor look at him through unfocused eyes as Hank pressed two fingers into his mouth. 

 

“Mmmmmphf~”

 

Hank understood that Connor had no context for what we was asking him to do, so he ordered instead; “Suck them. Make sure they're nice and wet, yeah?”

 

_ Cuz I'm gonna fuck you with them _ . 

 

In an almost immediate compliance, Connor closed his eyes and laved his tongue around Hank’s fingers. There was something terribly pretty about the way his lips stretched over Hank’s blunt fingers, something about the way he parted them with his tongue to spread saliva (or… whatever the fuck was in his mouth) around them as much as possible that made Hank’s own mouth water in response. 

 

_ No gag reflex… _ Hank experimented briefly by pressing his fingers down against the flat of Connor’s tongue, just to see, and his lower stomach did a funny flip when the vivid picture of his cock getting shoved into that pretty mouth seared across his mind. He guessed Connor probably wouldn’t need a gag reflex since he didn’t eat or really swallow anything that wasn’t Thirium, but… it was an interesting piece of information. For later use. 

 

_ If  _ there was going to be another time. The image was fucking hot, at least. 

 

Fingers sufficiently coated in… whatever wetness was in Connor’s mouth, Hank pulled them out and wasted no time in pulling Connor’s dark jeans down just enough for him to get his fingers in between the smooth cheeks of that ass that he was sure was going to haunt his dreams for the next year- 

 

Only to really, really be reminded of how terribly foreign his partner really was. 

 

It struck him, in the moment that his blunt fingers curled around to find a tight asshole with all the anatomy where it was all expected to be, only to find him already slick with lube that Hank knows he definitely did not put there, that Connor was a  _ fucking Android _ . 

 

Such a small thing to remind him. Until that moment, the fact that Connor was, in fact, manufactured and not born was a tiny voice in the back of his mind but was now as loud as an airhorn blaring into his ear. Because… Connor didn’t eat, and therefore didn’t produce waste, and therefore didn’t need a digestive system and that tight, puckered asshole was  _ manufactured  _ solely for the purpose of  _ fucking _ . 

 

_ He’s not human.  _

 

_ … Does that matter? _ He asked himself.  _ No. Not really.  _ He thought.  _ I just… hope all of  _ **_this_ ** _ isn’t manufactured.  _

 

Much as he wanted to get off and get Connor off, as a baseline he wanted to be sure Connor wanted it too. His thoughts strayed back to the way Connor looked at him and pressed Hank’s hand into his cheek and demanded he turn the device back on - then to the present with the way Connor was clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping him from falling through the planet. 

 

With the way Connor choked out a raspy moan as Hank’s fingers crooked against his ass. The way the cock in Hank’s hand kicked and pulsed. 

 

Manufactured…  _ maybe _ . Still hot as fuck. 

 

And maybe Hank was being insensitive again. Connor was more; much,  _ much  _ more than the most sophisticated sex toy in America.

 

_ Cyberlife  _ **_really_ ** _ thought of everything, didn’t they? _ He thought as he slipped a finger into Connor up to the first knuckle fairly easily. The… self-lubrication thing was a bit strange but he supposed he understood the idea, and his mouth watered a little at the grip around his finger and the heat which he was sure was hotter than an average person. 

 

Connor’s gasping breath stuttered against his ear as he continued to absentmindedly kiss and suck on his neck. He pushed himself up against Hank awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay or leave.  

 

And when he leaned down to brush his facial hair against a nipple exposed by the now ruined crisp white shirt, the hoarse sob that came out of Connor made Hank grin a little. He remembered what his first few sexual experiences were like - the overwhelming sensations of another person and their touch, however hard or light. The white-hot need for release whatever way he could get it. How easy it was to just feel good. 

 

Age and alcoholism killed a bit of that somewhat. 

 

But Hank still had to remind himself to stamp down that need a touch, when he maybe sucked a little too hard on that nipple and Connor made some startled, “ _ Ah! _ ”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled and pressed a soothing kiss down. Or one he hoped was soothing, with all of his facial hair. 

 

“Wha _ … _ ?” Connor breathed, and Hank looked up past a smooth, hairless chest and collar up to glassy brown eyes looking back. Connor’s speech wasn’t slurred, but the slow and deliberate way he spoke through breaths made Hank wonder if it was taking him real effort to process, “Why did you… apologise?”

 

Hank sank his finger a little further in, crooking it, rubbed the coarse hair on his chin against Connor’s sternum, and watched as Connor’s eyes rolled back, felt his hands pull lightly on Hank’s t-shirt. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

 

Connor’s brows furrowed deeply. Hank elaborated; “You made a noise! I thought I was… I dunno, being too rough-” 

 

“Hank,” Connor interrupted, panting and shaking his head, “I don’t feel pain.”  

 

Hank stilled, both hands stopping as he looked up a little at Connor,  _ really  _ looked at him. They looked at each other for what felt like the longest time.  

 

There was something to it that felt like an exchange deeper than just a look.  _ Doesn’t feel pain _ . His mind turned over the concept. 

 

_ Doesn’t feel pain. _

 

Pain and pleasure often went hand-in-hand, he knew that. Pain was part of the human experience. Especially since he was so big, he was used to his partners needing extra time and care, patience and gentleness so the pain didn't overwhelm everything else. The right kind of touch was a pleasant mix of both. 

 

What Connor was feeling was the feeling of pleasure undiluted. Because he wasn’t human. 

 

He was an android. With a body capable of fucking. And he  _ doesn’t feel pain. _

 

Hank pushed his finger in all the way to the knuckle of his palm, enveloping it in hot, wet heat. All Connor did was arch and moan a little deeper. 

 

_ Doesn’t feel pain. _

 

Hank sat up, pulling his hands out from underneath the android and out from the front and back of his underwear. Sitting back on his knees, he jerked Connor further down the couch until he was laid out lengthways prettily against the couch cushions, and impatiently pulled those dark jeans and plain black boxer-briefs down until he had to awkwardly maneuver long legs around to get them fully off.  

 

He didn’t bother with the nice leather dress shoes or socks, or the white shirt. Without having him close enough to grab onto, Connor instead held onto the couch cushion beside him and the other to the armrest above his head, spreading him out like the middle page of a magazine. 

 

His chest heaved. He held his gaze through half-open eyelids and black eyelashes. Connor was the picture of perfection. Sure, Cyberlife didn’t get some things  _ exactly  _ right, like the red splotches under the skin from too much friction that humans got. The redness of his mouth, in his cheeks, nipples and the head of his cock didn't deepen as they continued, it was just painted to look like that. 

 

But it didn’t matter, not with his tousled hair, or the wet sheen of his lower lip, or the tremble in his knees and elbows. 

 

_ Someone made you to  _ **_fuck_ ** , Hank thought distantly, running his palm down a smooth, warm thigh and grabbing Connor’s hips to pull him further against him until he was practically in Hank’s lap. His athletic, muscular android body was almost infuriatingly perfect. Perfectly in proportion, all creamy white skin and the artistic smattering of freckles and moles and pockmarks, and briefly he questioned who’s fucking job it was in Cyberlife to decide on where all of them went. 

 

_ And he doesn’t feel pain.  _

 

Almost as if he wanted to test that theory because Hank couldn’t be entirely sure, he spread Connor’s legs further with little coaxing and circled his hole with his index and middle finger, watching how the gasp and moaning expanded Connor’s chest and ribs and rolled into his hips. 

 

Hank collected as much lube as he could on his fingers and pushed both inside Connor at once, slowly at first, until Connor rolled his hips down and then  _ all  _ of his index and middle finger was in him to the palm. 

 

Hank’s jaw came loose; Connor was making some noise, some breathy noise that just spoke to him on some remarkably erotic level, “ _ Haahh… ahhhhn-… haahhh- _ ”  

 

He watched the android's hands try to grasp whatever he could find on the couch, the slow, unsure roll of his hips onto Hank's fingers, the toss of his head back into the couch, the tightening of synthetic muscle or plate or whatever the fuck in the hard ridges of his stomach.

 

In between the thrusts of his fingers into Connor, he pressed his fingers up into what felt like a wide, curved plate and Connor arched in such a pretty way that Hank found himself rolling forward a little, his own cock pounding for attention, pulling his body towards the writhing android on the couch. 

 

“Look at me,” Hank demanded, and with a whine Connor braced his hands against the armrest above his head to be able to look at him. 

 

He held his gaze while he added another finger, stretching him open, and Connor moaned through clenched teeth. 

 

Hank ran the knuckles of his opposite hand against the underside of Connor’s cock. 

 

Connor trembled. So did Hank. 

 

“Hank,” the android breathed when Hank stroked his cock, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling his head back, breaking his eyeline, “Hank, I cann _ nnnn- _ ”

 

“‘s okay,” he rasped back, “feel good?” 

 

“Y-yes,” 

 

His knuckles brushed against Connor’s bare arse as he buried his fingers into him. He pressed his thumb into the perfectly human feeling slit at the head of his cock. 

 

_ No pain _ , not even a wince, he just pushed against the armrest and ground his hips down. Not that he was trying to hurt him, naturally, the thought didn't even register with him, but watching Connor’s reaction…  _ Oh… _ he looked like he was enjoying it. Really,  _ really _ fucking enjoying it. 

 

“Does it really feel  _ that _ good?” Hank found himself asking in amazement. 

 

“Yes,” Connor answered, cut off slightly just to moan. 

 

He was the picture of erotic. They way he leaned his head back into the couch and messed up that once perfectly manicured hair. The part of his mouth, and the sounds he made in reaction to Hank's touch. The way he rolled into Hank's hands. The grip of him around Hank's fingers. 

 

_ Oh… _ Hank felt a wince of envy. He wanted to feel it too, something at least, and the touching just wasn't cutting it anymore. 

 

But the fear of past lovers still gripped him, even though Connor was quick to assure him otherwise. He hesitated, even though a heat formed in his thighs and started to burn up to his hips and stomach. 

 

But he had to ask. He had to be sure. “Connor,” he started, barely noticing the way his voice got all high and desperate, “can I fuck you?”

 

How had they gone from talking about petting Sumo to getting ready to have sex on the couch? 

 

“Is that not… what this is about?” Connor gasped out and managed just about to look up at him, the barest hint of a smirk on his open mouth. 

 

_ Heh… _ Hank should have known better than to think he didn't understand the context. 

 

Hank exhaled once, twice, before pulling his fingers slowly out and pulling the edge of his sweats down with his other hand. Whatever lubrication Connor’s body produced was surprisingly clear and slippery as he used it to coat his cock - it took a second for the stars to fade from his vision as his mind was stolen by the sensation. 

 

He leaned down, taking one of Connor’s hands and pressing it by the wrist against the armrest. The ease in which it took to push the android up until the top of his head was in the corner of the couch made a questioning flutter in his stomach, but he ignored it. It was clear that Connor wanted it, he didn't have to question the motive. With his other hand he lined himself up against Connor’s hole-

 

The deep push of his breath agitated a lick of hair on Connor’s forehead. The android was still moaning, still weakly squirming, his left thigh mincing against Hank's waist, prone and willing on his living room couch-

 

It was the warmth against the head of his over sensitised cock that drove the press into him. The first torturous, burning inch was deliberately slow-

 

“ _ Fuck- _ ”

 

And the slow inch forward into tight, lubricated heat was all at once familiar and comforting, as well as entirely foreign. Inside Connor was blazingly hot, and the way he  _ moaned _ , Hank didn't remember having ever felt so good. 

 

Other lovers by that point would have begged Hank for time to adjust, or for him to pull out, or more foreplay. He was used to being half-way in before the inevitable stop. The breath was stolen from his lungs at the close of Connor’s legs around his waist and the shift of his hips  _ up _ , taking more of him, and  _ more- _

 

“Fuck,  _ Connor- _ ”

 

So fucking  _ deep _ . So fucking  _ hot _ . So. Fucking.  _ Tight _ . A sweat broke out all over him. Already, he could feel an orgasm building at the base of his cock urging him to move and to fuck until he couldn't anymore, burning,  _ burning- _

 

The cold press of the leather heel of Connor’s shoe into the back of his thigh and the way he angled himself to sink onto him, until, for probably the first time in Hank's very sporadic and lonely sexual life, he was buried in Connor right to the base of himself, and his jaw came loose- 

 

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out hoarsely, “oh fuck. Connor,  _ fuck _ .”

 

It was way too much to keep to himself, to stay and adjust when the safety net of  _ no pain _ was there to catch him on his way down, when he let go of Connor’s wrist and planted both hands on the couch and thrust, shortly at first, and then deeper and longer and a little harder than he intended but there was no stopping it now. 

 

Not unless he was told to. 

 

It was…  _ Heaven _ . The perfect balance of pressure, grip and extravagant heat. Different from people, but close enough to resemble. Designed, he supposed through his sexed mind, to feel better as his thoughts harked back to that stupid Eden Club article.  _ Android sex officially better! _ Hank was fairly inclined to agree. 

 

Through watering eyes, Hank looked down at the gorgeous android he was currently buried to the hilt in. Connor’s LED was spinning rapidly between red and yellow, presumably as he processed what his body was feeling, but Hank found he couldn’t be worried as he finally started moving in earnest, and Connor’s hand’s snapped down to grasp his forearms for the leverage against Hank’s rhythm. 

 

It had been years since he had the pleasure of being inside someone and even longer since he'd felt so incredible, and Hank would admit he wasn't sure if he could keep up with his pace at the age and level of health he was at - but he was more than willing to try. 

 

More than willing to fuck Connor into the couch. More than willing to get off, to get Connor off. 

 

And as he leaned down a little and braced a foot against the floor, moaning at the change in angle and what that did to him, Hank settled on doing just that. 


	16. Chapter 16

Connor was able to focus more when Hank withdrew his fingers from him, was able to look up through eyes hazy and unfocused to finally draw his attention back. 

 

A curl of his hair had fallen against his forehead. The skin of his back burned against his shirt and the couch, and the underside of his thighs and buttocks sizzled where they pressed against Hank. There was something strangely erotic when looking down at himself, with his backside propped up against the largeness of Hank’s thighs, nearly fully naked while Hank remained nearly fully clothed - something that made a curious drop in his stomach and a deep ache in the base of his penis. 

 

He supposed he wouldn’t call it an ache. Connor could not experience pain. But it was a sensation strong enough to register as more than the pleasure he was feeling. 

 

And then there was Hank, after he’s asked him in that small,  _ high _ , far-away voice like he was terrified - “ _ Connor, can I fuck you? _ ”

 

Since his consent, a dark, almost animalistic persona seemed to overtake the human man; his jaw loosened, his bottom lip was flushed swollen and red, his eyes completely lost focus as his eyelids sagged and the rough way he handled Connor’s body in comparison to the delicacy he was moving with earlier reminded Connor somewhat of a gorilla. Pressing his wrist against the armrest above Connor’s head like he was afraid he would get away. 

 

It would be difficult to remove him from the state he was in without bringing him to orgasm. Connor marveled at how different Hank seemed with the promise of sex to his every-day self.  

 

In some senses he guessed that humans were no different from animals, really. The rush of adrenaline and hormones and the baser need to copulate had completely overtaken Hank - who was usually so aloof and ineffectual. He was chasing his pleasure with Connor’s body in a way that excited Connor to think of - that Hank would feel the pleasure he was, that they could potentially share it, that it was reciprocated and mutual, even though Hank tried quite hard to make it about Connor’s pleasure and not his own. 

 

And while Connor appreciated the kindness, the promise that Hank could feel good along with him was fueling a large portion of his directive in such a satisfying way. The stack of orders were piling higher and higher, and to know that they would all file away once it was over providing nothing went awry felt almost as good as when Hank was buried three knuckles and fingers deep in him.

 

While he was shoved roughly up the couch, his hair sticking in between the couch cushions as he was pinned between the man and the fabric and stuck with nowhere else to go, Connor looked up as Hank angled him comfortably against his thighs.

 

Hank’s nearly dry hair had fallen into his face, obscuring his eyes. His mouth was loose and open as he breathed. 

 

The mindlessness of him as he lined himself up against Connor, the pause he took, the hot rush of his breath across Connor’s face - unblinking, terrified he would miss a moment, Connor just watched as Hank pushed into him, even as the artificial pleasure went from warming to  _ burning _ at the  _ a g o n i s i n g l y _ slow entry - 

 

He couldn't. His eyes swam out of focus. His knees trembled. Every inch of his skin against Hank raced- 

 

“ _ Fuck- _ ” Hank swore-

 

Connor was inclined to agree. 

 

But he could handle it. He had to handle it - because as he felt Hank slow even further and his body anchored towards the sensations, he gripped the couch with what little strength he had and rolled his hips up, taking more of Hank with the subtle movement. 

 

And Hank choked - “Fuck,  _ Connor- _ ”

 

Connor’s breath caught in his throat as his UI blinded him for a second, flashing with new directive - the hesitation in Hank he could understand. He was big and probably nervous that he was hurting him, but Connor wasn't easily broken. He wanted Hank to follow through to the destination his body was taking him. 

 

So he leaned up a little, fascinated with the way Hank's eyes jammed shut and he grit his teeth, and Connor pressed his heel onto the back of Hank's thigh to encourage him to move forward, to, as he so aptly put it, fuck him properly. 

 

And the breath rushed out of Hank, his shoulders bunched up around his neck, his arms strained against the couch next to Connor’s ribs, “Oh fuck,” he groaned out, “oh fuck. Connor,  _ fuck _ .”

 

Connor didn't think he'd be able to hear Hank say his name without the reminder of this again.

 

A blush broke out across Hank's face - sweat started to bloom across his forehead and along his upper arms. Above everything else, Connor wanted Hank to enjoy it, and watching him getting overwhelmed with his pleasure was seriously messing with his ocular sensors with how aggressively his UI was flashing messages at him. 

 

The edge of Hank's pelvis was against him, and the feeling of fullness, which he supposed he did not really have an accurate descriptor for as he didn't eat - was nearly overwhelming. Outside, and now inside, he felt a heating, racing sensation, his body spasming in places he'd never felt. The lower half of his stomach pulled the base of his penis up in a pleasurable tug. His arms gripped and released at the biceps. His flanks and buttocks squeezed as his opening pulsed around Hank. 

 

And for a hot few seconds as Hank stilled, shuddering when their hips touched, he could feel the pulse of Hank's heartbeat in him, through him. 

 

Connor leaned back into the couch, his chest rising in fast beats. It was so much. To have so much touching him, outside and in, was too much - and the  _ feeling _ of Hank's heartbeat… he was  _ so-  _

 

But when Hank started fucking him in earnest, there was little to no processing power left to accurately think about it, past the singing of nerves never used before.

 

The quick pull-out and jerk back in first sent his head into the couch corner, the cushions enveloping his hair. His back as it rubbed against the fabric tingled, the curved plate on the inside of him registering the hot heat and pressure of Hank pressing against it with a sizzling shock that made him arch his back, half-in panic at the wave of sensations, half-in hunger for more.  

 

And then  _ again  _ \- more heat, more pressure, more of the wideness of Hank opening him up, more of the jerk of his body at Hank’s thrust. 

 

And  _ again _ .  _ And again _ . And Connor grasped Hank’s forearms with his hands as the renewed pressure against that plate inside him almost made him want to stop because of how terribly powerful the sensation was. Some high whining sound was coming out of him, his UI blinking behind jammed-closed eyelids idly reminding him that it was not just about him and his pleasure - but what could he do? 

 

What could he do beyond enjoy it? 

 

With the rhythm of Hank using his body almost like he was a battering-ram against the couch, what else could he do beyond hold-on as each roll of Hank’s length in him against that wide plate took over every nerve, from the bottom of his neck to him knees, filling him to the brim? 

 

Connor felt like a glass nearly over-full. On the edge of spilling over with just a little more - just a little something else, and if this what what sex was he couldn’t blame humans in the slightest for letting it consume them for the moments that it happened. 

 

Hank’s rhythm was satisfyingly human -  _ instinctual _ , almost feral, a little aggressive even as his angle shifted slightly to be deeper,  _ harder _ , and the breath was stolen from Connor’s lungs. Not that it was necessary for him to breathe, but his programming dictated that he should, and it was proving difficult with his current position.  

 

And then, in a moment where his concept of time stood at a standstill, his audio-pickup just about registered Hank hiss the words; “Fuck, that’s  _ so good _ ,” 

 

**Fuck, that’s** **_so good_ ** \- the sentence registered through his translation functions and travelled to his processor for analysis, firing off an electronic  _ avalanche  _ of directive in his systems - /MAKE HANK FEEL GOOD/ seemed to file itself away and then reappear a dozen times over in a millisecond, blanketing his UI in a cascade that nearly blinded him. The surge of sensation that overcame him was incredible. 

 

His body reacted accordingly, and his arch into Hank and the desperate sob that came out of him only really seemed to serve the purpose of angling Hank deeper within him, and for Hank to thrust into him a little harder and groan in response. 

 

“Do you jus-  _ nngh _ … did you just get tighter?” Hank asked, but Connor didn’t have the power to answer him. 

 

The all-encompassing pleasure, just at those words, left a sensation in him that he hadn’t felt since he leaned over the roof on the Stratford Tower and baulked at the idea of falling over the edge. His body bracing for an impact. A tightening of limbs and plate and synthetic muscle and tendon. A rush of air. 

 

Tumbling downward. Flailing. Powerlessness. An impact that wasn’t coming. 

 

His stressor gauge suddenly signalled his UI as his Thirium pump increased in speed, sending pumping Thirium to every inch of him, struggling to absorb as much information as possible. 

 

Hank’s pace slowed as he leaned forward, his breath rough against Connor’s chest and neck, his hands reaching around Connor’s buttocks to hike him up a little further. But still with that slow thrust, getting slower -  _ s l o w e r _ … and Connor just managed to crack his eyes open to see the dark look on Hank’s face, a flash of his teeth-

 

“Do you  _ like it _ when I tell you how good you feel?” 

 

While his internal processors searched for an answer encompassing the current context that would satisfy Hank, the sheer effort he tried to put into it forced an override function to take-over and it flashed his vision red with the message; ERROR - NOTHING FOUND -  JUST SAY  **YES!**

 

“...  _ Ha-Han _ -”

 

“I think you do,” Hank whispered lowly,  _ s l o w l y _ impaling him with that remarkable length, “I think you like being told how good it feels to fuck you.”

 

Almost on cue, the way -  _ whatever way _ \- Hank said it travelled through him like static, hypersensitising his skin and bowing his back in an arch so hard that the press of his penis trapped between himself and Hank’s stomach was another level of pleasure adding onto the stack of already overwhelming sensations. His UI was flooded with more directives filling away and reappearing. He moaned high and surprised, and Hank made some shivering noise too. 

 

“ _ Shit _ -” Hank hissed, and gripped his hips harder, “because it does.  _ Fuck _ , it's really-” his hips withdrew quick and then snapped back, pressing him open again with the length of him, “ _ really- _ ” 

 

The next thrust was harder, rocking the couch forward into the wall, and Hank’s breathless grunt was a sound he would replay forever, “really-”

 

It was the edge of insanity, so much sensation, so much of his being encompassed by the idea that he was making Hank feel good and that he was so stolen by it all was now, at the edge of himself -  entirely too much . His stressor gauge jumped so many levels that it burned a solid red. 

 

The series of hard, unforgiving thrusts into him and Hank’s whispered words between; “-really. Fucking. Good,  _ Connor… hnnn, _ ” pushed him so close to that edge that he was in danger of toppling over it, falling with nothing to catch him. 

 

He was falling, flailing, tumbling downwards with no impact in sight. The rush raced up from his toes, through his stomach, up his chest and through the top of his head. 

 

There was only one conclusion he could reach and he hung on the precipice -  _ it was going to kill him _ . 

 

The panic quickly took over.

 

“Hank!” He grasped desperately at the human man’s upper arms, “Hank,  _ stop! _ ” 

 

* * *

 

The wild cry of  _ Stop _ was something, annoyingly, Hank was terribly used to when it came to sex. 

 

He  _ always _ stopped, and in that moment stopped nearly immediately, his heart leaping up into the back of his neck in panic.  _ He was hurting Connor. _

 

“Wha-what’s wrong?” He asked, in a semi-fucked daze, one arm going under the android to scoop him up against him as he leaned down, the other immediately going for Connor’s face, “Hey,  _ hey _ , c’mere,”

 

It was, he guessed, a habit - or a natural human instinct to hold and touch and kiss until the pain passed, and with the desperate way Hank pressed his mouth to Connor’s cheek and chin and neck, his breath still short and heavy, it was probably just his way of both apologising and trying to tempt the sex back. He  _ burned _ in the lack of movement, his skin taking over the sensitivity of his cock and burning, from his chest to his thighs. 

 

_ Fuck _ he was so close. The base of his cock  _ ached _ . 

 

Connor was still squirming uselessly against him, breathing short and sharp and making some low whining noise as his hands kneaded Hank’s forearms. He made some motions to move away from Hank’s breathless kissing so Hank didn’t push, but he still gripped the android to him all the same. 

 

Somewhere in the back of his sexed mind he supposed all the touching and kissing probably wasn’t helping with how sensitive Connor was, but his worry overrode the logic for that moment. 

 

“I think… I-I think it’s subsiding....” the android breathed.

 

“What is? Hey,” there was a whine as Hank turned Connor’s face back to him and kissed him, but he couldn’t really help the action, “you okay?”

 

“... Yes.... no… I am unsure. I felt like I was… falling. Like I was going to hit the ground, but there was no impact,”

 

“Wha… what? Falling? What are you…?” 

 

Connor managed to crack open his eyes and look up at him from under his brow, his chest still pumping, “I am aware of how… absurd that sounds,”

 

So he wasn’t hurting him. That was a relief.

 

The android under him looked thoroughly fucked. His LED was a solid red and cycling lazily. From the ruined shirt shucked up around his arms and under his shoulders, to the tangle of sleek black hair trapped against the armrest of the couch and the open-mouthed, half-lidded expression on his face, Hank’s ego boosted a little.  _ Falling with no impact? _

 

_ Heh…  _ if Hank didn’t know any better...

 

Hank leaned up and off him so that they weren’t pressed so close, his hands on the couch on either side of Connor’s waist. A balloon of some nameless feeling swelled up in the end of his chest as the words sank in. 

 

It might have had something to do with the heat around his cock still wedged in his partner. It might have had to do with some common sense, and a few years of experience. 

 

“Hey… it… kinda sounds like… you were about to come,” he posed quietly.  

 

There was a swelling silence. He watched as the focus switched in Connor’s gaze to look inward. After a moment he looked down at his own hands still squeezing Hank’s arms, then down again to the space between them, to where they were joined together. 

 

“You… think I was about to orgasm? Is that what you mean?”

 

He couldn’t help the twitch of his cock at the word, really he couldn’t, and he thinks it carried into the accentuated t in the word ‘ _ that’  _ as Connor said it, stuttering lightly around the tip of it. 

 

“Think about it,” Hank pressed quietly, “how could you be falling? Nowhere for you to go except off the couch and… well… you’re kinda stuck where you are, right?”

 

That nameless feeling grew in him, and grew, as the room went quiet again and Connor seemed to look everywhere but Hank, adding logic to what Hank presumed was one of the first irrational and illogical thoughts he ever had. Connor didn’t operate much on “feelings”, despite his insistence on instinct. Instinct was just a word he used to simplify inhuman calculation and situational theory backed-up by complex programming, Hank knew that. 

 

After a moment, Connor looked up at him, a little pleading, and asked; “This is an orgasm?”

 

“Yeah...?” 

 

“Why does it feel like dying?” 

 

A laugh rippled out of him, the air pushing the hair against Connor’s forehead. “You know… I think the French have a word for it like that.” 

 

Connor flashed him some half-exhausted, half-worried looking smirk. 

 

In a moment, he could hear the sound of a car rolling by outside, of the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen cycle over. The summer sun trickled in through the curtains onto the coffee table and in a patterned shaft from the window in the front door. Sumo’s paws tapped on the floor as he padded in from Hank’s bedroom to plop next to his bowl in the kitchen. In the silence of the few seconds, the reality of the situation began to blossom and something in Hank softened, quite deeply. 

 

On his day off from the force, here he was, fucking his android partner in the heat of the summer afternoon, on his couch in the middle of the day after a near-decade-long dry-spell. After thinking about it for weeks on end. 

 

And he wanted to keep going. Which surprised him. 

 

He wanted to see it through to the end. For at least one of them to get off, hopefully the android, although if it kept up much longer Hank wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold it. 

 

Still, he supposed, even if he came and Connor didn’t, there were always other ways. His fingers and hands, or his mouth. They could work through a list… they had all afternoon, after all…

 

The enticing thought, as he gazed down at the android underneath him sent his hips forward in an experimental thrust, almost questioning. Connor, still mostly fucked and still on edge from feeling like he was about to keel over, immediately reacted with a squeeze of Hank’s forearms and a vaguely unsure roll of his hips. 

 

It still felt good. Hank could at least bank on that. 

 

“Do you want to give it a try?” He leaned forward on his hands and slowly thrust forward again, then rephrased; “Do you want to come?” 

 

“I-I… I don’t know,” he stuttered, but Hank could feel his thighs tightening a little around his waist, the heel of his shoe pressing against the top of his arse, “Hank… I-”

 

But he was cut off as his eyes rolled back when Hank was fully within him and for a moment, even though he was moving slow the heat and the sensation of him was a little overwhelming. Hot as fuck -  _ better  _ than humans. Manufactured to be that way. 

 

And Connor looked like he really enjoyed it the most when Hank was in him right to the base, which was something he hadn't had much experience with. 

 

The rough-and-ready sex before felt so unbelievably natural; a flow, a gradual build towards the hottest orgasm Hank was sure he was ever going to have and to  _ stop,  _ even though he was quite used to the pause felt like a system shock. He wanted to go back there - where they were both on the edge again with just a little  _ more _ , just a little bit  _ more  _ to send one or both of them overboard. 

 

_ To fall towards the impact. _ That was some way of putting it. 

 

There was a moan - more of a  _ whine _ , and Connor looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and strained out, “I want to… I want to try, but I’m  _ scared _ , Hank.” 

 

“S’okay,  _ hey _ , look at me,” he soothed and brought those brown eyes back to him when they wandered, “do you trust me?” 

 

“I… yes, of course I do.” 

 

“We can stop whenever you want, okay? Do you wanna stop?”

 

“N-no…”

 

The slow, easy thrusting was clearly getting to Connor, who’s spasmodic squeezing of his arms got a little tighter when the next push drove him a little further in. Saying he didn’t want to stop was a good enough affirmation - although with their position on the couch Hank’s ass was starting to cramp a little on the left. The entirely romantic thought of spreading Connor out on the well-worn sheets of his bed crossed his mind - not unlike the first one that came to him all those weeks ago in the precinct when he was cleaning out Gavin’s desk - and he slowly began to withdraw.

 

“C’mon,” he soothed as a brief, terrified glance was thrown his way from Connor when he pulled-out completely, tucking his protesting cock back into his sweats when he straightened up, “let’s take this somewhere a little more comfortable.” 

 

With the cramp creeping its way from his ass, to his lower back and thigh it might  _ not  _ have been the best idea to scoop Connor up against him and stand-up, considering just how fucking  _ heavy  _ he was, but he did appreciate how Connor adjusted and distributed his weight more comfortably against him. 

 

He could have just stood and let Connor follow, but there was something to him that said perhaps the android wouldn’t have the strength to. He’d seen Connor punch through concrete and pull a car door fully off its hinges with little effort, but with the weak, almost useless squirming he was doing while they fucked and even before, Hank chalked that down to the device on the coffee-table. Whether it was hampering him or just diverting power to other functions, he didn’t know, but it hardly mattered when Connor melted in his arms anyway. 

 

His arms screamed at him to just  _ fucking stop _ while he carried the android from the living-room to his bedroom, contemplating briefly how it would feel to have him up against the wall but knew he probably didn’t have the strength just yet. Few more months in the gym, maybe… 

 

Regardless, it would be better for both of them on the bed. 

 

Connor would be able to feel the sheets properly and not get completely squashed up against the armrest, and Hank wouldn’t need to keep a foot on the floor, either. 

 

Hank didn’t… mean to drop Connor to the bed like he weighed a ton, but… Jesus, it was getting hard to breathe just carrying him. There was a gasp and an arch as Connor’s skin presumably hit the sheets and all that new sensation took over. Hank took a second to watch him writhe around, press the back of his head into the pillows and reach up to grab them with his hands, the sunlight spilling in from the window catching all that pale skin in afternoon glow. 

 

That nameless feeling in the end of Hank’s chest started to bubble up his neck, and he gently pushed Connor up the bed so he could get on him, suddenly hating the ruined shirt still wrapped around Connor’s arms and the fact that Connor still had socks and shoes on, and leaned back to reach down and remove them. Something nameless in him wanted to do it right, make it good, even though he knew that  _ anything  _ felt good to Connor, he still wanted to do right by him.

 

Get him completely naked and comfortable. Let his skin feel as much as he was capable. Hank could take his time, let his partner feel  _ pleasure _ . Get inside him again, take it slow. 

 

Socks and shoes divested with some squirming hassle, he was surprised when Connor reached up as he leaned back down and then he was being kissed, as he guided them both back onto the bed, the press of over-warm synthetic lips against his and the wet swipe of a tongue in his mouth made him suck the air in through his nose as he contemplated throwing slowness out the fucking window for a moment. 

 

Connor’s shirt was removed between breathless kisses and then he was completely naked, and with a jolt as he felt the android’s fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt, Hank realized he hadn’t removed a single article of clothing since they started making-out on the couch some endless hours ago.

 

And the nameless feeling in his chest, he realized, was an ache to press his skin against his lover’s in a way he hadn’t in years. 


End file.
